3IZHE  AZTEC  GOD 

AND  OTHER  DRAMAS 


GIFT  OF 
?ge  Lansing  Raymond 


THE  AZTEC  GOD 


OTHER    DRAMAS 


BY 


GEORGE   LANSING   RAYMOND 


FOURTH    EDITION    REVISED 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

Gbe    Ifcnicfcerbocfcec    {press 


COPYRIGHT    BY 

GEORGE  LANSING  RAYMOND 
1900 

REVISED    EDITION,    COPYRIGHT    BY 

GEORGE  LANSING  RAYMOND 
1908 


REVISED    EDITION,    COPYRIGHT    BY 

GEORGE  LANSING  RAYMOND 
1916 


Made  in  the  United  States  of  America 


CONTENTS. 


THE  AZTEC  GOD 


COLUMBUS     .........     I2g 

CECIL  THE  SEER  ....  ...    296 


THE  AZTEC  GOD. 


INTRODUCTION  :   PLACE  AND  TIME. 

The  scene  of  this  drama  is  laid  in  Mexico  near  the  opening 
of  the  Fifteenth  Century,  just  when  the  Aztecs  were  begin 
ning  to  overrun  the  country,  and  when,  therefore,  the  peculiar 
forms  of  their  religion  may  reasonably  be  supposed  to  have 
been  comparatively  unknown  to  the  Tezcucans  who,  as  will 
be  shown  presently,  adhered,  in  the  main,  to  the  more  mild 
religious  observances  of  the  ancient  Toltecs. 

The  facts  with  reference  to  the  Aztec  human  sacrifices,  the 
selection  for  these  of  a  captive  without  blemish,  the  allot 
ment  to  him  of  certain  maidens  as  wives,  and  the  general 
luxury  and  adoration  with  which  he  was  surrounded  up  to 
the  time  when,  surrendering  the  flowers  that  crowned  his 
head  and  the  lyre  that  he  carried,  he  ascended  the  pyramid 
to  have  his  heart  torn  out  of  him  while  still  alive, — all  these 
facts  are  sufficiently  well  known  to  substantiate  the  delinea 
tions  of  the  drama. 

The  exact  religious  conception  which  underlay  these  Aztec 
rites  is  not  known.  In  the  circumstances,  it  has  been 
thought  justifiable  to  surround  them  with  a  certain  atmos 
phere  of  spiritual  truth — though  only  in  twilight — similar  to 
that  which  is  known  to  have  formed  the  setting  of  the  pagan 
worship  of  ancient  Egypt  and  Greece.  It  has  been  recognized 
that  doing  this  might  not  only  enhance  the  poetic  effective 
ness  of  the  presentation,  but  might  also  aid  in  imparting  to  it 
that  contemporary  import  and  application  which,  in  every 
work  of  art.  the  intelligent  reader  ought  to  feel,  even  though 


2  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

he  may  not  be  able,  in  any  wholly  satisfactory  way,  to  analyze 
or  interpret. 

A  few  historical  quotations  may  be  needed  to  explain  the 
disposition  which  Haijo  and  the  King  are  represented  as  pro 
posing  to  make  of  Waloon.  In  a  note  referring  to  the  in 
mates  of  the  Aztec  religious  houses,  in;  Prescott's  "Conquest 
of  Mexico,"  vol.  I.,  p.  69,  we  read  that  "  Tales  of  scandal 
..  .  .  have  been  told  of  the  Aztec  virgins,"  etc.,  and  in 
vol.  I.,  pp.  UO-II2,  of  the  same  author's  "Conquest  of 
Peru,"  a  country  in  which  there  prevailed  a  worship  of  the 
heavenly  bodies  very  similar  to  that  of  the  Aztecs,  we  are 
informed,  with  reference  to  the  "Virgins  of  the  Sun,"  as 
they  were  termed,  that  "  they  were  young  maidens,  dedicated 
to  the  service  of  the  deity,  who  *  .  .  were  taken  from 
their  homes  and  introduced  into  convents.  .  .  .  From  the 
moment  they  entered  the  establishment,  they  were  cut  off 
from  all  connection  with  the  world,  even  with  their  own 
family  and  friends.  Yet  .  .  .  though  Virgins  of  the  Sun,  they, 
were  brides  of  the  Inca  (or  king),  and,  at  a  marriageable  age, 
the  most  beautiful  among  them  were  selected  for  the  honors 
.  .  .  of  the  royal  seraglio  .  .  .  The  full  complement  of  this 
amounted  in  time  not  only  to  hundreds  but  to  thousands,  who 
found  accommodations  in  his  different  palaces."  An  estab 
lished  custom  like  this  among  the  Peruvians  certainly  seems 
sufficient  to  justify  an  illustration  of  the  spirit  underlying  it 
among  a  people  so  much  like  them  in  other  respects  as  were 
the  Aztecs. 

A  few  words  may  be  needed  too  with  reference  to  the 
range  of  thought  and  feeling  attributed  in  the  drama  to 
Monaska  and  Kootha.  Some  may  suppose  the  healthfully 
romantic  chastity  of  the  one  and  the  philosophic  cynicism  of 
the  other  to  be  idealizations  beyond  the  possibilities  of  the 
period. 

With  reference  to  the  first  of  these  suppositions  it  is  only 
necessary  to  say  that  a  very  slight  investigation  of  faets 


PLACE  AND    TIME.  3 

would  enable  the  reader  to  recognize  that  Monaska  repre 
sents  a  type  of  character  by  no  means  uncommon  among  the 
Indians  of  our  own  country  to-day,  or  among  other  semi- 
civilized  people.  The  elaborated  systems  of  ethics,  to  which 
the  enlightened  nations  are  apt  to  attribute  their  virtue,  are 
themselves  merely  developments  of  natural  and  normal  in 
stincts  of  which  men,  especially  young  men,  are  everywhere 
conscious,  and  by  which  they  are  often  controlled.  If  this 
were  not  so,  the  ethics  of  civilized  life  would  be  a  result  with 
out  a  cause. 

With  reference  to  the  philosophic  and  religious  attitudes  of 
mind  of  Kootha,  and  of  Monaska,  too,  so  far  as  he  is  represent 
ed  as  indulging  in  these,  something  more,  perhaps,  should  be 
said.  And  first  of  all,  let  the  reader  be  reminded  that,  had  this 
drama  been  written  by  one  who  had  lived  among  the  Aztecs, 
it  would  have  been  impossible  for  him,  however  desirous  of 
being  faithful  to  facts,  looking  backward,  as  he  would  be 
obliged  to  do,  through  the  vista  of  time,  not  to  have  his 
whole  representation  tinged  with  the  results  of  his  experi 
ences  in  life,  thought  and  expression  through  the  four  hundred 
years  intervening.  But,  besides  this,  were  he  a  poet,  it  would 
be  impossible  for  him  not  to  have  them  tinged  specifically  with 
the  results  of  his  own  imagination,  inasmuch  as  the  value  of 
the  contribution  of  poetry,  in  all  cases,  is  exactly  proportioned 
to  the  light  with  which  it  illumines  facts  in  connection  with  the 
process  of  transferring  them  to  the  region  of  fancy.  It  is 
admitted,  therefore,  that  the  characters  of  this  drama  are 
presented  as  they  appear  through  an  intervening  space  of 
four  hundred  years  ;  and  that,  as  a  consequence,  the  expres 
sions  used,  and  in  some  cases  the  substance  of  what  is  ex 
pressed,  are  more  or  less  modern.  But  just  as  a  magnifying 
glass  modifies  all  the  points  of  interest  in  an  object  to  which  it 
is  applied,  so  it  seems  permissible  at  times  for  imaginative  art 
to  do — in  case,  like  the  glass,  it  does  not  change  the  relative 
proportions  of  the  parts  to  one  another  and  to  the  whole.  A 


4  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

poet,  like  a  painter,  has  a  right  to  increase  the  interest  and 
beauty  of  the  life  that  furnishes  his  model  by  means  of  tha 
medium — the  modern  medium  too — through  whicn  he  is  suj> 
posed  to  contemplate  it.  Otherwise,  the  subject  with  which 
he  deals  could  not  be  treated  from  a  present  and  poetic 
view-point,  and  his  works  would  not  be  worth  the  ink  ex 
pended  on  them.  All  the  consideration  for  truth  which  it 
seems  reasonable  to  expect  of  the  historic  dramatist  is 
that,  in  a  medium,  the  component  parts  of  which  are  neces 
sarily  made  up  of  the  language  and  methods  of  thought 
natural  to  his  own  time,  he  should  represent,  in  their  relative 
proportions,  the  particular  motives  and  feelings  as  well  as  the 
general  atmosphere  of  thought  natural  to  the  conditions  ex 
isting  at  the  time  of  the  events  forming  the  basis  of  his  plot. 

There  still  remains  another  supposition  to  be  met.  It  has 
apparently  been  granted,  thus  far,  that  the  range  of  thought 
and  feeling  attributed  to  Monaska  and  Kootha  may  be  beyond 
the  possibilities  of  the  period.  But  barring  the  modern 
associations  and  suggestions,  to  which  reference  has  already 
been  made,  it  is  by  no  means  certain  that  this  need  be  con 
ceded.  The  fathers  of  the  Spanish  church,  at  the  time  when 
America  was  discovered,  seeing  in  the  distribution  of  bread 
and  wine,  confession,  penance,  monasticism  and  sacrificial 
ceremonies,  as  practiced  by  its  aborigines,  a  resemblance  to 
their  own  religious  observances,  could  attribute  this  to  nothing 
but  contrivances  of  the  devil  to  counterfeit  the  rites  of  Chris 
tianity.  But  we  all  know  now,  or  ought  to  know,  that  the 
real  explanation  for  resemblances  of  this  kind  is  to  be  found 
in  the  fact  that  humanity,  wherever  it  exists,  is  the  same  ;  and 
that  a  similar  stage  of  its  development  always  tends  to  forms 
of  life,  religious  as  well  as  civil,  of  the  same  general  nature. 
This  fact,  indeed,  is  the  chief  warrant  for  supposing  that  this 
drama  of  the  Aztecs  can  have  any  present  interest,  or  suggest, 
by  analogy,  any  present  lesson.  But  this  thought  aside,  the 
fact  being  as  stated,  all  that  is  needed  to  justify  the  character- 


PLACE  AND  TIME.  5 

istics  and  sentiments  of  Monaska  and  Kootha  is  to  show  that 
the  civilization  of  the  Tezcucans  at  this  period  was  sufficiently 
highly  developed  to  produce  them.  To  do  this  is  not  diffi 
cult.  Of  one  of  the  kings  of  Tezcuco,  Nezahualcoyotl, 
who  died  about  1470  A.  D.,  the  same  author  already  quoted 
says  in  the  "  Conquest  of  Mexico,"  vol.  I.,  pp.  192-196,  that 
"  He  built  a  temple  in  the  usual  pyramidal  form,  and  on  the 
summit  a  tower  nine  stories  high,  to  represent  the  nine 
heavens ;  a  tenth  was  surmounted  by  a  roof  painted  black 
and  profusely  gilded  with  stars  on  the  outside  and  incrusted 
with  metals  and  precious  stones  within.  He  dedicated  this  to 
the  unknown  God,  the  Cause  of  causes.  .  .  .  No  image  was 
allowed  in  the  edifice,  as  unsuited  to  the  invisible  God ;  and 
the  people  were  expressly  prohibited  from  profaning  the  altars 
with  blood,  or  any  other  sacrifices  than  that  of  the  perfume  of 
flowers  and  sweet-scented  gums."  He  is  also  represented  to 
have  said  :  "  Idols  of  wood  and  gold  can  neither  see,  hear  nor 
feel ;  much  less  could  they  make  the  heavens  and  the  earth 
and  man  the  lord  of  it.  These  must  be  the  work  of  the  all- 
powerful,  unknown  God,  Creator  of  the  universe,  on  whom 
alone  I  must  rely  for  consolation  and  support ;  "  and  in  one 
of  his  poems — for  many  nobles  and  princes  of  this  people 
were  poets — he  says :  "  The  great,  the  wise,  the  valiant,  the 
beautiful — alas  !  where  are  they  now?  They  are  all  mingled 
with  the  clod ;  and  that  which  has  befallen  them  shall  happen 
to  us,  and  to  those  that  come  after  us.  Yet  let  us  take  cour 
age,  illustrious  nobles  and  chieftains,  true  friends  and  loyal 
subjects, — let  us  aspire  to  that  heaven  where  all  is  eternal,  and 
corruption  cannot  come."  Men  educated  where  opinions  like 
these  prevailed  and  were  expressed,  could  certainly  be  capa 
ble  of  sentiments  of  the  kind  attributed  in  this  drama  to 
Monaska  and  Kootha. 


Each  time  you  try  to  mold  a  spirifs  life 
With  fingers  grappling  from  the  fist  of '  force t 
You  clutch  but  at  the  air,  at  what  is  far 
Too  fine  for  force  to  handle. 

THE  AZTEC  GOD,  IV,  /. 

Oh  something  surely  must  be  wrong \ 
When  that  which  rules  without  rules  not  within. 

IDEM. 


CHARACTERS. 


MONASKA.  A  young  Mexican  or  Acolhuan  warrior  of 
noble  blood,  captured  by  the  Aztecs  from 
the  Tezcucans,  a  people  who,  before  suc 
cumbing  to  the  Aztec  invasion,  were 
distinguished  by  their  comparatively 
mild  religion  and  manners. 

KOOTHA  Tezcucans    of   high    rank    and   education, 

AND  HIS  captured  by  the  Aztecs  years  before  the 

COMPANION.         time  when  the  drama  is  supposed  to  open, 
and  now  slaves  of  the  priest,  Haijo,  and 
attendants  at  the  temple. 
HAIJO.  A  chief  priest  of  the  Aztecs. 

WAPELLA.         A  Tezcucan  warrior,  captured  by  the  Aztecs 

at  the  same  time  as  Monaska. 
THE  KING.       Sovereign  of  the  Aztecs. 
WALOON.          A  Tezcucan  maiden  of  high  rank,  niece  of 
Kootha,  captured,  when  very  young,  by 
the  Aztecs  and  adopted  by  Haijo  the 
priest. 

FIRST     ]  Admirers  of  Monaska,  and  assigned 

SECOND  I    MAIDENS.        to    him  as  wives,   according  to 
THIRD    J  the  customs  of  the  Aztecs. 


WOMEN,  MAIDENS,  OFFICERS,  WARRIORS,  PRIESTS,  PRIEST 
ESSES,   PAGES,   ATTENDANTS,   ETC. 


PROPERTIES. 


MONASKA. 


KOOTHA 
AND   HIS 

COMPANION. 

HAIJO. 

WAPELLA. 

KING. 


WALOON 

AND   HER 

MAID. 
MAIDENS. 


In  Act  First,  Bow,  Arrows,  and  Club.  In 
Act  Second,  Club.  In  Acts  Third  and 
Fourth,  Flower-wreathed  Head-dress  and 

Lyre. 

In  Acts  First  and  Fifth,  a  Spear. 

In  Act  First,  a  Spear. 

In  Acts  First  and  Fifth,  Bow,  Arrows,  and 

Club.     In  Act  Second,  a  Club. 
In  all  the  Acts,  Belt  and  Hand  Weapons 

appropriate  for  a  king.     In  Acts  Second 

and  Fourth,  some  sort  of  a  Crown. 
In  Act  First,  a  Spear.     In  Act  Second,  a 

Wreath  of  Flowers. 

In  Second  Act,  Wreaths  of  Flowers  about 

their    heads,    shoulders,    etc.,    and    also 

carried  in  their  hands. 
WARRIORS  with  Bows,  Arrows,  Spears,  etc. 

and  all  on  the  stage  in  the  costumes  of 

the  place  and  period. 


THE  AZTEC  GOD. 


ACT  FIRST. 

SCENE: — A  forest.  Backing,  a  tree  with  a  moss- 
covered  elevation  or  bench  at  its  Right.  Many 
Entrances  at  the  Right  and  Left  through  the 
trees.  The  darkness  of  a  storm  by  day,  i^'ith 
occasional  thunder  and  lightning.  Contending 
bands  of  warriors  in  flight  and  pursuit  cross 
the  stage  from  Left  to  Right. 

Enter — Left — KOOTHA  attendedby  his  COMPANION. 

'[KOOTHA  (to  his  COMPANION). 

Oh,  what  a  whirlwind's   wave-lashed   sea  is 

war! 

Then  hate  breaks  loose  to  over-flood  the  world, 
Hurling  all  love-built  order  upside  down 
Till  weal  is  drowned  in  darkness  of  the  deep, 
And  wreckage  rides  the  crest. — They  might 
have  known 

1  These  brackets — [  and  ] — are  placed  before  and  after 
passages  which,  in  reading  or  presentation,  may  be  omit 
ted  without  interfering  with  the  unfolding  of  the  plot. 

9 


10  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

They  would  be  tricked.     War's  tactics  all  are 
acts 

Of  treachery — the  one  sole  sphere  where  he 

Who  does  the  worst  thing  does  the  best,  here 
faith 

Falls  crushed  beneath  the  trampling  foot  of 
force ; 

And  fair  means  trip,  trailed  mireward  after 
foul.] 

Enter — Right — OFFICER. 
OFFICER.     What,  Kootha,  you  here? 
KOOTHA.  Ay. 

OFFICER.  What  for? 

KOOTHA.  To  see 

The  tragedy. 

OFFICER.  Is  over  now. 

KOOTHA.  The  fight?— 

I  mean  not  that;  but  you  have  captives. 
OFFICER.  Crowds. 

KOOTHA.     And  them  I  came  to  see. 
OFFICER.  Yes,  you  are  he 

That  waits  on  them  till  sacrificed. 
KOOTHA.  I  do. 

OFFICER.     And  you  take  pleasure  in  it  ? 
KOOTHA.  So  they  say. — 

Why? — You  would  not? 
OFFICER.  In  part  of  it  I  might. — 

For  you,  too,  like  an  angel,  bring  to  each 

The  maiden  he  is  free  to  love  and  wed. 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  II 

KOOTHA.     And  I,  too,  ride  the  nightmare,  sped 

him  when 

His  love  o'erflows  in  dreams  of  Paradise. 
I  come  to  tell  him  just  the  way  to  reach  it, 
Describe  the  scene  awaiting  on  the  morrow — 
His  own  stripped,  cringing   form — and,  over 

there, 

Each  man,  maid,  child  in  town  agog  to  see  him ; 
Then  how  the  priests  will  throttle,  throw  him 

down, 

And,  while  yet  living,  writhing,  yelling,  sane, 
Gouge  their  blunt  nails  between  his  reeking 

ribs, 
And,  by  the  roots,  tear  out  his  dripping  heart. 

[OFFICER.     Ugh ! — I  would  rather  be  a  soldier. 

KOOTHA.  What?— 

And  miss  a  spectacle  so  rare? — that  play 
Of  fright  and  agony,  in  white  and  shade 
Breaking  in  contrast  o'er  your  victim's  brow? 
Why,  what  is  life  without  variety? 

OFFICER.     You  see  too  much  of  it. 

KOOTHA.  Oh  no! — no  more 

Than  all  men  do — perhaps  concentered  more 
Than  hell  vouchsafes  to  others!     That  is  all.] 

OFFICER  (pointing  toward  the  Left). 
See  there — the  maids  are  coming  now. 

KOOTHA.  Of  course, 

To  snare  the  captive  that  your  spears  have 
spared. 


12  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

They  know  the  first  with  whom  they  fall  in 
love 

Will  be  the  first  one  whom  the  priest  will  call 

The  chosen  of  the  gods,  and  send  to — heaven. 

What  cares  a  maid,  be  he  her  victim  too? 
OFFICER.     You  mean  her  lover. 
KOOTHA.  Victim. 

[OFFICER.  Humph!    I  see: 

A  soldier's  life  seems  lovelier,  then? 
KOOTHA.  Why  not? — 

A  man-foe  is  a  brute,  a  shark  that  whacks 

The  spirit's  prow  and  whirls  it  from  its  course. 

A  maid  may  be  a  devil,  seizing  on 

The  spirit's  helm  to  turn  it  where  she  will. 

Her  victim  though — he  thinks  her  will  is  his. 

You  never  knew  a  man  to  dodge  the  touch 

Of  love-like  fingers  feeling  for  his  heart. 

That  heart  held  once  within  a  grip  so  gained, 

Will  take  each  wrench  that  wrings  its  life- 
blood  out 

To  be  its  own  pulsation.] 
OFFICER.  I,  at  least, 

Am  not  their  victim  yet,  and  so  I  leave. 

Exit— Right— OFFICER. 
KOOTHA  (to  Ms  COMPANION). 

No,  not  their  victim;  but  his  captives  are; 

And  they  are  our  own  kin,  whom  we,  forsooth, 

Must   fool   and   lure   to   slaughter.     How   I 
longed 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  13 

For  their  success!     Yet  why? — Am  well  off 

here; 
And  they  might  not  have  deem'd  us  of  their 

tribe,— 

So  young  we  were  when  captured,  now  so  like 
The  native.  Yet  could  I  but  save  Waloon, — 
My  brother's  child,  king's  daughter  too!  but 

here 
This  Haijo,  he  who  maimed  me — made  me 

slave, 

Haijo,  he  trains  her  like  a  flowering  weed 
To  clip  and  fling  up  to  the  royal  couch, 
When  comes  the  time  her  beauty  blooms  in 

full. 

Poor  duped  Waloon! — Oh,  I  can  bear  my  fate! 
But  she — to  see  her  grow  what  Haijo  wills, 
Deem  nothing  true  or  right  in  earth  or  air 
Except  what  he  enjoins ! — be  so  much  his 
That  even  I,  who  ought,  I  do  not  dare 
To  let  her  know  the  foe  we  just  have  fought 
Are  our  own  kinsmen!     What  can  curse  one 

worse 
Than    force    that    jails    expression,    whether 

walled 

In  masonry  or  flesh ! — Though  it  may  be 
Fit  training  for  a  life  whose  brightest  end 
Is  death.     If  all  men  die  alone,  may  be 
They  ought  to  learn,  ere  death,  to  live  alone. 
Enter — Left — Several  WOMEN. 


14  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

FIRST    WOMAN.     Aha,   you  think  so,   do  you, 
Kootha? 

KOOTHA.  YOU 

Have  come  to  make  a  lonely  lot  seem  bliss? 
What  business  brings  you  here? 

(gesturing  to  make  them  retired) 
SECOND  WOMAN    (advancing  in  a  supplicating 

way}.  We  came  to  pray 

KOOTHA.     Oh,  yes,  I  know,  you  always  come  to 

prey, 
So  do  the  buzzards,  but  we  drive  them  back. 

SECOND  WOMAN.     We  seek 

KOOTHA.     Why  say  not  lose  ? — You  hope  to  lose 

Your  hearts  in  this  place. 
FIRST  WOMAN  (sarcastically}. 

Not  in  this  place,  Kootha. 
It  must  be  further  on.     (She  tries  to  pass  him.) 
KOOTHA  (preventing  her).     No,  no,  stay  back. 
FIRST  WOMAN.     Stay  back? — Stay  back  your 
self.     Are  you  the  one 
Commanding   here — a    slave   of    priests    like 

you? 

What  use  have  priests  upon  a  battle-field? 
KOOTHA.     To   save   souls   from   perdition — arr> 

between 

The  men  and  you. 

FIRST  WOMAN.  The  fight  is  over. 

KOOTHA.  Then 

Do  let  the  warriors  have  a  little  rest. 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  15 

Why  break  their  peace,  before  you  get  them 

home? 
[FIRST  WOMAN.     No  fear  for  your  peace!     You 

may  stay  alone! 

There  are  those,  though,  who  want  us. 
KOOTHA.  There  are  men 

Who  lose  their  senses.     I  have  heard  of  those 
With  ears  too  dull  to  hear  a  bat  when  squeal 
ing. 

And  flesh  too  tough  to  feel  a  flea  when  sting 
ing. 
SECOND  WOMAN  (to  FIRST  WOMAN). 

Why  stand  and  talk  ?     We  have  a  right  to  see 
The  captives.     Kootha  knows  it  too. 

(To  KOOTHA).     Stand  back! 
(To  FIRST  WOMAN). 
Go  forward ! 

KOOTHA.  Nay,  leave  forwardness  to  men. 

Have    backwardness.     It    best     becomes    a 

woman.] 
(An     arrow,  coming  from  the  right,  falls  upon  the 

stage.     KOOTHA  picks  it  iip.} 
See  there — an  arrow!     They  are  fighting  still. 
You  may  get  more  of  these  through  your  own 

hearts 
Than  even  you  could  dream  to  send  through 

others'. 
WOMEN.     Oh!  oh! 

Exeunt — Left — the  WOMEN  in  fright. 


16  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

KOOTHA  (looking  after  them,  and  then  toward  the 
right).  The  fight  and  flight  not  over? — 
Humph ! 

Exit — Left — KOOTHA  and  his  COMPANION. 
(After  a  little,  amid  thunder  and  lightning), 
Enter — Right  Rear — WAPELLA. 
Enter — Right  Front — MONASKA. 
WAPELLA.  That  you,  Monaska? 
MONASKA.  Yes,  and  you? 

WAPELLA.  Wapella. 

MONASKA.     What  man  can  fight  both  earth  and 

heaven  ? 
WAPELLA.  Some  fiend 

Is  raining  down  these  fiery  storm-bolts. 
MONASKA.  Yes, 

We  meet  the  foe,  and  in  their  track,  as  if 
Out-cowarding  the  just-caught  cuttle-fish, 
This  gloom  exudes  upon  the  flooding  light. 
WAPELLA.     We   might   have  scaled  their  hill, 

but  not  these  heavens. 
MONASKA.     We  just  had  drawn  our  bows,  each 

arrow  aimed 

To  wedge  eternal  stillness  in  between 
Unhinging  joints  of  some  affrighted  heart, 
When   down   upon   us   burst   that    thunder- 
flash. 

The  shock,  so  sudden,  glanced  the  arrows  up 
As  if  to  shoot  them  in  the  face  of  gods 
Asail  the  clouds  in  yon  black  gulf.     It  gave 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  IJ 

Their  men  their  chance.     With  one  wild  yell 

and  bound 
They  closed  like  smoke  about  the  lightning's 

fire; 
And,  all  with  darts  whirled  on  like  sparks 

before 

A  flame  that  followed,  they  came  roaring  on 
To  fill  the  gaps  their  shots  had  made.     [Oh, 

hell! 

Not  one  of  us  but  saw,  mount  fiercely  up 
The  dying  body  of  some  fallen  friend, 
What  seemed  wild  fiends. 

WAPELLA.     How  know  you  but  they  were? — 
Grim  phantom-spirits  of  the  earth  and  air — 
The  same  that  now  pursue  us? — And  from 

them 
You  fled? 
MONASKA.     Fled? — Never!     No,   with  them   I 

fought, 

Till  all  I  fought  for  but  myself  were  not. 
WAPELLA.     Hush!     They  will  find  us. 
MONASKA.  Ay,  they  will — too  soon. 

Each  fearful  time  this  lid  of  heaven  is  lifted, 
The  rays  pour  in  and  focus  here  on  us. 
They  axle  here  the  foes'  near  wheeling  lines, 
Ay,  draw  them  like  a  whirlpool  to  its  vortex. 
WAPELLA.     This  tree  will  shield  us. 
(The  two  move  toward  a  tree  at  the  Back  Centre 
with  a  moss-covered  bench  at  the  Right  of  it.) 


18  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

MONASKA.  There  is  not  a  tree 

Or  leaf,  or  trunk,  but  what,  to  point  us  out, 
These  fiery  fingers  of  the  storm  would  dash 
Aside  to  ashes — fume — thin  air.] 
WAPELLA  (leading  MONASKA  toward  the  moss- 
covered    bench,    and    sitting    down,    then 
rising}.  We  here 

Are  hid  as  could  be  hoped  for. 
MONASKA.  I  hope  not 

For  anything.     Sweet  hope  is  a  bird  of  light, 
The  pulsing  touch  of  whose  aspiring  wing 
Thrills  to  new  life  the  very  air  one  breathes. 
In  gloom  like  ours  the  trembling  heart  but 

leaps 

To  dodge  the  whir  of  some  blind  bat  of  fear. 
WAPELLA  (looking  toward  the  Left}. 

Hark!     There  seems  human  rhythm  in  this 

hell. 

What  hot  pursuit  is  it  comes  burning  through 
These  crackling  branches? 

( Vivid  lightning.) 
MONASKA  (pointing  toward  the  Left). 

Did  you  see  it? 
WAPELLA.  No. 

But  when  I  do (drawing  his  bow.) 

MONASKA  (placing  his  hand  on  the  bow). 

Hold! — Could  one  ever  see 
An  angel,  hers  would  be  a  form  like  that. 
WAPELLA.  An  angel? — fiend! 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  19 

MONASKA.  Right!     Only  fools  have  faith 

In  forms  they  have  not  wit  to  find  unfrocked. 
Not  sages  even  see  the  spirit  through  them. 
We  flee. 

WAPELLA  (placing  his  hand  on  his  hip,  and  sink 
ing  down).     I  cannot. 

MONASKA.  What? — Are  wounded? 

WAPELLA.  Yes. 

MONASKA  (sitting  on  the  moss-covered  seat  beside 

him}.     Then  I  stay  too. 
WAPELLA.  Nay,  go. 

MONASKA  (lying  down  on  the  moss-covered  eleva 
tion}.  Not    I. — No   man 
Can  wish  us  ill,  the  while  our  bodies  bow 
To  do  his  wishes.     Let  us  yield  our  wills 
To  save  our  lives,  and  feign  that  we  are  dead. 

Enter — Left — WALOON  and  a  MAID. 
WAPELLA.     Sh — sh— 
WALOON  (to  the  MAID). 

The  foe  are  fled.     Our  homes  are  safe ; 

(Lightning.     She  sees  MONASKA  and  WAPELLA.) 

Why,  who  are  they? — How  beautiful!     What 

flowers 

To  bloom  amid  the  desert  of  the  storm! 
What  glow  of  vigor  in  their  fair,  round  limbs, 
Ay,  how  their  colors  warm  this  cold-hued  air ! — 
Can    they    be    wounded? — dead? — Oh,    cruel 

man, 
When  spirits  of  the  sunlight  guise  in  flesh 


20  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 


And  fringe  the  halo  of  the  sunshine  round 

them, 

Have  we  so  much  to  cheer  us  on  the  earth, 
We  can  afford  destruction  to  the  frames 
That  form  fit  settings  of  a  light  so  dear? — 
Nay,  I- 

(She  approaches,  bends,  and  studies  them.} 

They  both  are  breathing  still ! — But  look 

(Lightning.) 

This  garb? — Why,  they  will  kill  us  yet  un 
less 

(She  lifts  a  spear  that  she  holds  in  her  hand,  then 

drops  it.) 

[Who  made  me  heaven's  avenging  messenger? 
Or  bade  me  cull  for  those  high  gardeners  there 
What  grow  in  nights  of  earth  to  greet  their 

dawn  ? 
I  should  not  know  them  foes  but  for  their 

guise. 

And  what  is  all  their  alien  flesh  but  guise 
A  little  nearer  to  their  souls?     It  gone, 
What  would  they  be  but  spirits,  freed  from 

space, — 

From  all  the  need  of  trampling  others  down 
To  find  a  place  to  stand  in  for  themselves? — 
The  two  here  must  be  wounded. — Say,  good 
friends — ] 

(They  start  up.     She  draws  back.) 
Exit — Left — the  MAID  as  if  frightened. 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  21 

Wait,  wait! — A   maid   like  me  would  do  no 
harm. — 

(As  they  sit  still  and  look  at  her.) 
You — you  are  wounded? 
MONASKA.     Not  to  death. — And  you? — 

Why  do  you  stand  there,  and  not  hurl  the 

dart? 

It  would  be  sweet,  if  when  one  came  to  die, 
His  last  sigh  could  breathe  forth  toward  one 

like  you. 

WALOON.     I  kill  you?— What? 
MONASKA.         And  why,  pray,  should  you  not? 
WALOON.     I  am  a  woman ! 
(The  storm  ceases;  and  from  this  time  on  the  forest 

grows  gradually  brighter.) 

MONASKA.  And  a  woman's  aim 

Knows  how  to  reach  the  heart.      We  should 

escape 
The  bungling  work  of  men. 

(opening  his  breast.) 

My  heart — take  aim — 
Is  open  to  you.     Oh,  how  it  will  thrill 
To  feel  it  gets  what  you  would  give ! 
WALOON.  No,  no; 

You  seem  too  strong  and  fair  for  earth  to  lose. 
Some  one,  with  you,  would  find  it  full  of  light. 
MONASKA.     But  we  are  foes. 
WALOON.  To  me  you  seem  like  friends. 

MONASKA.     But  to  your  brothers? 


22  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

WALOON.  There  are  those  they  spare. 

MONASKA.     At  your  wish  ? 
WALOON.  I  can  plead. 

MONASKA.  From  such  lips  pleas, 

Like  fragrance  from  the  flowers  upon  a  shrine, 
Might  bring  an  answer.     I  will  trust  in  you. 

(MONASKA  and  WAPELLA  begin  to  rise.} 
Enter — Left — HAIJO  and  KOOTHA  with  his  COM 
PANION  . 
WALOON.     Nay,    nay,    lie    still.     Wait,    till    I 

speak  to  them. 
(referring    to  HAIJO  and  KOOTHA,  and  moving 

toward  them  and  addressing  them.) 
Here  lie  some  wounded  warriors. 
KOOTHA.  Foes  ? 

WALOON.  They  are. 

KOOTHA.     I  hope  then  you  have  cured  them  of 

their  wounds! 
WALOON.  How  so? 
KOOTHA  (lifting  his  spear). 

How  so  ? — There  is  but  one  sure  cure. — 
Ope  wide  the  casket  that  the  world  has  bruised 
And  let  the  unbruised  soul  fly  out  of  it. 
(makes  as  if  he  would  move  toward  MONASKA.) 
WALOON  (lifting  her  hands,  and  moving  forward 

as  if  to  shield  MONASKA). 
No,  no;  not  that;  no! — They  are  beautiful. 
KOOTHA.     Then  send  them  upward  while  they 
are  so.     Why 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  23 

Outlive  the  happy  moment  for  one's  death ! 

A  body  maimed  may  mold  a  spirit  maimed. 

WALOON.     Their  wounds  are  not  so  bad  as  that. 

KOOTHA.  Or  good. 

(WALOON  looks  at  him  in  a  puzzled  way.) 
I  mean  it — good.     I  mean  it.     Let  me  see 

them. 
(WALOON  gestures  toward  them  and  looks  toward 

HAIJO.) 
[HAIJO    (to   WALOON,   as   he   looks   toward    the 

prisoners} . 
You  call  them  beautiful?     When  you  have 

seen 

As  much  of  men  as  I,  you  will  think  more 
Of  greater  spirits  with  their  lives  enshrined 
In  mountain,  valley,  forest,  bush,  and  flower 
Than  of  these  little  spirits  framed  in  flesh. 
WALOON.     A  great  priest,  you,  and  I  a  little 

maid. 
HAIJO.     And  for  our  little  maidens  men  like 

these 

Are  sent  at  times  on  little  missions  to  us.] 
KOOTHA  (waving  his  spear). 
Sire,  pin  them  down  where  they  shall  kneel 

before  us 

And  keep  on  kneeling  till  their  life  is  through. 
HAIJO.     No,  no! — but  I  wait  here,  and  you  go 

back 
And  tell  them  at  the  temple  why  I  do  so. 


24  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

KOOTHA  (to  his  COMPANION  as  he  moves  toward 
the  left). 

Oh,  heaven,  I  thought  to    help    them! — but 

too  late ! 

Exit — Left — KOOTHA  and  his  COMPANION. 
HAIJO  (to  WALOON). 

You  wish  to  save  them,  eh? — One  way  is 

WALOON   (eagerly).  What? 

HAIJO.     Why,    make    the    king    adopt    them. 

This,  you  know, 

Is  often  done.     Then  they  will  be  our  own; 
As  much  so  as  if  born  here.     Can  you  think 
Of  anything  he  would  not  do  for  you? — 
The  trouble  is,  I  hear,  that  there  are  things 
You  would  not  do  for  him,  ha,  ha,  ha,  ha ! 
Oh,   no   offense!     You    know    you    are    my 

ward. 

For  one,  I  ward  you  from  his  majesty. 
Suppose  you  go,  and  tell  your  tale  to  him — 
The  beauty  of  the  prisoners,  and  your  wish. 
I  think  that  he  would  grant  it. 
WALOON.  Free  them  wholly? 

HAIJO.     Why,  you  can  ask  and  learn.     Should 

he  refuse, 
They  would  be  no  more  sure  to  die  than  now. 

(HAIJO  waves  his  hand.) 

Enter — from  both  Right  and  Left — GUARDS  with 
spears,  and  stand  watching  MONASKA  and 
WAPELLA. 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  25 

WALOON.     First  I  will  tell  them  why  I  go  away — 

And  you  will  guard  them  here? 
HAIJO.  As  if  the  king 

Himself  had  ordered  it. 

(to  a  Chief  of  the  Guards  as  WALOON  walks  to 
ward  MONASKA  and  WAPELLA  who  rise 
to  receive  her)     The  girl  is  right. 
She  knows  what  beauty  is — just  what  we  need ! 
And  not  another  fair-formed  captive  left  us ! 
The  king  will   save  them,  not  a   doubt   of 

that. 

We  never  found  a  pair  of  fairer  gods. 
WALOON  (to  MONASKA.) 

I  go  to  ask  our  king  here  to  adopt  you. 

(pointing  to  HAIJO) 

This  guardian  of  all  our  sacred  things 
Will  guard  you  sacredly  till  I  return. 
HAIJO  (to  MONASKA  and  WAPELLA). 

Unless  you  mean  to  fly.     Try  that;  no  more 
Could  you  escape  our  warriors'  darts,  than 

dodge 

The  shadows  of  the  trees  through  which  you 
flew. 

Exit— Left— WALOON. 
MONASKA  (to  HAIJO). 

You  seem  a  prophet,  sire? 

HAIJO.  They  hold  me  such. 

MONASKA  (holding  out  his  hand). 
And  you  could  read  my  fate? 


26  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

HAIJO.  Not  difficult. 

(plucking  a  twig  from  a  tree) 
The  tree's  full  growth  is  here,  could  one  unfold 

it. 

Your  future  is  the  fruit  of  present  dreams, 
The  lure  that  leads  the  deepest  wish  within 

you, 

The  goal  that  lights  the  farthest  path  of  hope. 
(taking  MONASKA  by  the  hand,  then  dropping  it) 
A  touch  that  feels  the  start  can  point  the 

finish. 

MONASKA.     You  think  so? 

HAIJO.  There  is  nothing  stops  the  flow 

Of  thought  betwixt  my  fingers  and  my  brain, 
Betwixt    your    fingers  and  your  brain;  not 
so?— 

(taking  him  by  the  hand  again) 
Now  join   these — what   cuts  off  your  brain 

from  mine? 
MONASKA.     Our  wills. 

HAIJO.  Yet  if  I  yield  my  will  to  yours — 

MONASKA.     But  can  you? 

HAIJO.  And  if  not,  what  boots  the  priest 

His  years  of  fasting  and  of  discipline? — 
Besides,  all  lives  are  much  alike. 
MONASKA.  They  are? — 

[How  so? 

HAIJO.  All  thorns  or  roses,  if  you  please, 

Grown  on  the  self -same  bush. 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  2J 

MONASKA.  Do  all  lives  grow 

Both  thorns  and  roses? 

HAIJO.  Yes;  we  show  the  thorns 

To    those    who   try    to    pluck   us  for  them 
selves  ; 

The  roses  to  the  ones  that  let  us  be. 
MONASKA.     And  so  you  think  all  lives  alike? 
HAIJO.  Allied.] 

All  lives  are  summers,  veiled  at  either  end 
In  shadows  of  the  spring  and  autumn  storms. 
We  pass  from  tears  of  birth  to  burial; 
And  in  the  brief,  bright  interval  between 
There  comes  anon  the  fevered  flush  of  life, 
Then  paleness,    then    the    fevered    flush    of 

death. 
Men  leap  and  laugh,  and  then  lie  back  and 

cough. 

Both  but  hysterical,  betwixt  the  two, 
Warring  for  power  that  more  of  war  must 

keep, 
Pushing  for  place  that  prisons  those  who  seize 

it, 
Kneeling  for  love  to   tramp   on   when   they 

get  it, 

Their  little  rest  is  large-brought  weariness, 
And  what   they   wish   for    most    is    mainly 

death. 

MONASKA.     A  cheerful  view! 
HAIJO.  It  was  not  volunteered. 


28  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

[MONASKA.     My  fate  seems  dark  then? 
HAIJO.  Brilliant. 

MONASKA.  Brilliant? 

HAIJO.  Yes, 

MONASKA.     A  fire   is  brilliant,    yet    it    burns 

us  up. 

HAIJO.     In  time. 

MONASKA.  Yet  all  life  is  a  thing  of  time. 

HAIJO.     You  hunger  for  excitement,  man.     You 

hail 

The  trump  of  war,  the  tramp  of  onset,  all 
That  sweeps  you  on  where  drafts  of  life  and 

love 

Fan  up  the  flames  that  flicker  in  the  breast 
And   set   the   whole   form's   trembling   veins 

aglow. 

MONASKA.     You  read  me  well. 
HAIJO.  Suppose  this  heart  a  toy 

Wound    up    to   run   through   just    so   many 

ticks— 
MONASKA.     I  see,  you  mean  a  fast  life  is  a  short 

life. 

HAIJO.     The  fleetest  foot  is  first  beside  the  goal. 
MONASKA.     But  if  the  goal  be  high  as  well  as 

far 

HAIJO.     The  bird  of  fleetest  wing  may  fly  the 

highest. 
MONASKA.     It  may! — A  chance  that  I  could 

risk ! — If  not, 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  29 

More  blest  the  short-lived  moths  that  fly  to 
flame 

Straight   through   a   pathway  lit   by   coming 
light 

Than  long-lived  worms  that  crawl  through 

endless  mire. 

HAIJO.     Yours  will  be  lit  by  coming  light. 
MONASKA.  And  I,] 

I  shall  not  lose  my  life? 
HAIJO.  In  every  life, 

The  first  and  final  acts  are  tragedy. 

MONASKA.     But  ere  the  final  act  ? 

HAIJO.  The  whole  you  wish 

Will  come. 
MONASKA.    All  ? 
HAIJO.  All. 

MONASKA.  But  I  am  not  unselfish. 

HAIJO.     You  need  not  be — where  all  will  rush 

to  serve  you. 

MONASKA.     And  I  am  vain. 
HAIJO.     None  will  be  clothed  more  richly. 
MONASKA.     And  I  have  tastes. 
HAIJO.  Each  meal  will  be  a  feast. 

MONASKA.     I  would  not  slave  it  to  these  lower 
aims. 

I  have  ambition. 

HAIJO.  None  will  rank  above  you. 

MONASKA.     None? 
HAIJO.  I  have  said  it — none. 


30  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

MONASKA.  That  cannot  be. 

My  birth 

HAIJO.     Who  knows  the  place  that  he  was  born 

To  fill? 

MONASKA.     High  aspirations  thrill  my  soul. 
HAIJO.     Have  higher  still.     You  will  be  like  a 
god. 

(aside,  to  the  Chief  of  the  Guards.) 
Now  will  I  see  if  he  divine  my  meaning. 
MONASKA.     It  may  be  when  I  die. 
HAIJO  (aside  to  the  Chief  again}. 
Is  not  divined; 
Or,  if  it  be,  in  but  a  slight  degree. 

(to  MONASKA.) 
No;  you  mistook  my  thought.      I  spoke  of 

earth. 
MONASKA.     Of  earth? — You  know,  sire,  I  can 

tell  it  you — 

You  know  about  the  weaknesses  of  youth  ? 
HAIJO.     Yes,  you  can  tell  me  all. 
MONASKA.  I  am  not  one 

Has  lived  or  worked  with  other  men.     My  soul 
Has  dwelt  alone,  and  sails  the  wraves  of  life 
Like  some  stray  oil-drop  lost  upon  the  sea, 
Refusing  still,  however  wildly  tossing, 
To  lose  or  fuse  itself  in  things  about  it. 
I  have  so  craved  a  mate!  but,  whoso  came, 
The  spirit  that  is  in  me  would  deny 
My  clasping  to  a  heart  that  might  not  beat 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  3! 

In  time  to  pulses  of  another's  purpose. 
So  what  I  would  caress,  I  dared  not  touch, 
For  fear  the  rhythm  throbbing  in  my  veins 
Would  prove  discordant  and  reveal  us  foes. 
HAIJO.     Ah!  love  }-ou  wish? 
MONASKA.  Ay,  sire,  I  would  be  loved. 

HAIJO.     You  think  that  strange  at  your  age, 

strange  ? 
MONASKA.     Not  strange  the  wish — but  could  it 

be  fulfilled— 
HAIJO.     I  said  it  should  be.     You  shall  be  so 

loved 
That  you  will  yearn  for  rivals  more  than  see 

them. 
[MONASKA.     Will  yearn — but  how  can  this  be 

true?     You  jest. 

HAIJO.     Is  it  my  face  or  robe  you  deem  a  jester's  ? 
MONASKA.     You  mean  it? 

HAIJO.  It  is  in  your  hand,  your  face. 

I  told  you  I  had  had  experience. 
Why  do  you  doubt? 
MONASKA.  Because  life  never  brought 

Aught  like  it. 
HAIJO.     Life  brings  day  as  well  as  night, 

When  day,  the  wise  will  use  the  sunshine.] 
MONASKA   (looking  at  WAPELLA,  who  has  been 
watching  them  eagerly,  and  now  rises). 

Come 
And  tell  his  fortune  too. 


32  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

WAPELLA.  Yes,  mine. 

Enter — Left — WALOON  and  the  KING. 
HAIJO.  The  King. 

(All  bow.     The  KING  speaks  aside  to  HAIJO.) 

The  King  desires  that  you  retire,  you  three. 
(motioning to  MONASKA,  WAPELLA,  and  WALOON.) 
Exeunt — Right — MONASKA,  WAPELLA,  and  WA 
LOON,  accompanied  by  some  of  the  Guards. 
KING  (to  HAIJO.)     What  think  you? 
HAIJO.  Just  what  she  has  told  you,  sire. 

No  doubt,  about  the  beauty  of  the  men. 
KING.     Nor  of  her  love? 

HAIJO.  It  seems  to  augur  well. 

KING.     I  feel  not  sure  about  your  method. 
HAIJO.  No?— 

In  lands  like  ours,  a  land  controlled  by  law, 

Illegal  force  will  rouse  the  people's  wrath. 

But  let  her  love  the  one  we  make  a  god, 

And   wed   his   ghost,    and   dwell   within   the 
temple ; 

There  he  who  is  the  head  of  our  religion 

Can  rightly  represent  the  god, — not  so  ? 
KING.     I  see — a  portion  of  the  heaven  of  which 

The  priesthood  holds  the  key,  is  on  the  earth. 
HAIJO  (suddenly  turning  the  subject}. 

Sire,  we  must  have  some  foe  to  sacrifice. 

For  this  year 

KING.  You  will  furnish  one  insured 

To  break  this  maiden's  heart. 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  33 

HAITO.  A  colt  once  broke 

Drives  easily. 
KING.  Let  me  not  doubt  again 

What  power  incarnates  Providence  on  earth. 
Lead  out  this  coming  god. 
HAIJO  (looking  toward  the  Right). 

Waloon,  the  King 
Desires  to  see  the  prisoners. 
'Enter — Right — WALOON,  MONASKA,  WAPELLA, 

and  GUARDS. 
KING  (to  HAIJO,  as  he  looks  at  MONASKA). 

Yes,  yes, 

He  is  a  fine  one,  no  mistake !     Poor  girl ! — 
But  what  were  life  without  its  discipline? 
And  what  are  kings  and  priests  for  but  to  give  it  ? 
No  fetes  are  feasts  with  every  course  alike; 
And  all  fare  better  wrho  begin  with  bitters. 

(to  MONASKA  and  WAPELLA.) 
Young  men,  your  warriors  came  a  long,  hard 

way 
To  fight  with  us.     They  should  have  stayed 

at  home. 

MONASKA.     Our  king,  sire,  sent  them  forth. 
KING.  Good!     We  shall  keep 

Their  flesh  to  fertilize  our  fields,  and  see 
That  he  has  less  to  send  the  next  time.     Ha ! 
(The  GUARDS,  at  a  sign  from  the  KING,  draw 

their  bows  on  MONASKA  and  WAPELLA.) 
Waloon,  stand  back,  there,  from  the  prisoners. 


34  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

WALOON  (to  the  KING). 

Ah,  but  you  will  not  kill  them,  will  you,  sire? 
KING.     Why  not? — They  would  kill   us.     We 

only  do 

What  they  would  do. 
MONASKA  (aiming  his  bow}. 

Perhaps,  when  this  has  gone 
Through  you,  and  through  your  pals  too — 
WALOON  (hurrying  between  the  KING  and  MON 
ASKA,  and  speaking  to  MONASKA).    Wait. 
MONASKA  (bowing  to  WALOON).  For  you. 

WALOON  (to  the  KING). 

Ah,  sire,  was  it  for  this  I  urged  them  not 
To  fly   from  here? — You   surely  will  adopt 

them? 
KING.     And  you  would  save  my  life  and  save 

his  too?     (To  MONASKA.) 
We  both  owe  something  to  her  love,  you  see. 
MONASKA  (to  the  KING). 

I  read  my  pardon  in  your  own  face  now. 
KING.     I  feel  no  pity,  and  no  love  for  you. 
If  you  are  saved  here,  she  alone  has  done  it. 
Thank  her. 
MONASKA  (kneeling  to  her}. 

I  will,  as  I  would  thank  an  angel. 
KING  (to  HAIJO,  aside}. 

You  see — we  made  no  promises.     Keep  watch 
And  never  let  them  be  alone  together. 
CURTAIN. 


ACT  SECOND. 

SCENE  : — A  walled  open  space  within  an  Aztec  fort. 
Backing  at  the  Right  is  a  closed  gate  guarded  by 
SPEARMEX,  and  at  the  Left  a  pyramid-shaped 
structure  such  as  formed  an  Aztec  shrine.  On 
the  lower  steps  of  this  structure,  forming  a  sort 
of  throne  for  the  KING,  are  rugs,  etc.  On  the 
Right  Side  of  the  Space  are  trees,  on  its  Left 
Side,  near  the  rear  are  curtains  before  a  building 
evidently  of  the  nature  of  a  temple.  Entrances: 
several  at  the  Right  through  the  trees;  at  the  Right 
Center  through  the  Gateway;  at  the  Left  Front 
to  one  side  of  the  Temple;  at  the  Left  farther 
back,  through  curtains  into  the  Temple;  at  the 
Left  Rear  between  the  Temple  and  the  Pyramid. 
The  Curtain  rises  on  the  gray  light  of  dawn. 
Guards  are  at  the  gates,  prisoners  grouped 
about  the  space.  MONASKA  and  WAPELLA 
are  near  the  Left  Front. 

WAPELLA.     I  do  not  understand  this. 

MONASKA.  No;  but  half 

The  interest  of  life  is  in  its  puzzles. 

WAPELLA.     I  thought  they  set  us  free. 
35 


36  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

MONASKA.  I  often  think 

Some  one  is  just  about  to  set  me  free. 
I  never  found  him  yet. 
WAPELLA.  We  fare  no  better 

Than  these,  our  fellow-prisoners. 
MONASKA.  That  seems 

A  lesson  to  our  self-conceit.     The  wise 
Are  grateful  to  their  teachers. 
WAPELLA.  You  are  sanguine. 

MONASKA.     Some    men    are    born    with    light, 

aspiring  blood 
That,  bounding  brainward,  keeps  the  whole 

frame  glowing. 
WAPELLA  (pointing  to  the  other  prisoners) . 

These  men  expect  us  to  be  put  to  death. 
MONASKA.     And   some   are  born  with   heavy, 

sluggish  blood, 
That  will  not  leave  the  heart  but  keeps  it 

weighted. 
WAPELLA.     They  say  they  know  the  customs 

of  the  place. 
MONASKA.     We  know  its  characters — the  maid, 

priest,  king 

WAPELLA.     They   say  that   captives  here   are 

sacrificed. 
MONASKA.     Not   those   the   king   himself   has 

once  adopted. 

WAPELLA.     Then  say  why  we  are  prisoned  in  a 
temple. 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  37 

MONASKA.     Humph!  your  conundrum!     Have 

not  thought  of  it. 
WAPELLA.     No;   nor  of   anything  outside  the 

maid 

You  have  enshrined  there  in  your  heart. 
MONASKA.  With  reason! 

WAPELLA.     Would  reason  drop  the  curtain  of 

the  eye, 

And  dwell  in  darkness,  and  be  proud  of  it? 
Monaska,  you  are  dreaming.    You  must  wake 
And  join  us  in  our  effort  to   escape. 
MONASKA.     You  make  it  for  yourselves.     Why 

wait  for  me? 

WAPELLA.     Why? — You  outrank  us. 
MONASKA.  There  are  no  ranks  here. 

WAPELLA.     A  leader,  if  he  lead  not,  shames  his 

birthright. 

Besides,  we  two  have  weapons  left  with  us. 
You  keep  your  club;  I  mine.     The  rest  have 

none. 

Perhaps  they  merely  overlooked  our  arms, 
And,  when  the  morning  comes,  will  take  them 

from  us. 

Before  that,  when  the  other  guards  withdraw, 
As  they  do  always,  when  the  signal  sounds, 

(pointing  toward  the  gate) 
We  can  attack  the  two  they  leave  behind, 
Each  kill  his  man,  and,  while  the  rest  break 
down 


3§  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

The  gate  behind,  can  all  of  us  rush  out, 
O'ertake  our  friends  and  fly  with  them  for 

home. 
MONASKA.     The  home  in  which  the  spider  traps 

the  fly! 

WAPELLA.     No  soldiers  watch  that  side  the  gate. 
MONASKA.  And  we, 

To  show  our  gratitude  for  being  saved, 
Will   leave    two    prostrate,    murdered   forms 

behind 

To  do  obeisance  for  us ! 

[WAPELLA.  Rather  than 

Harm  them,  we  all  here  should  be  murdered, 

eh? 
MONASKA.     If  there  were  fear  of  that,  the  maid 

would  never 
Have  pleaded  for  us.] 

WAPELLA.  They  are  all  our  foes. 

Can  you  a  moment  balance  them  against 
Your  time-tried  friends? 

Exeunt — Left — all   the   GUARDS    but   two, 
who  stand  each  side  the  gate. 

Look !     Now  the  guards  have  left. 
Monaska,   come — I  said  you    would. — They 

wait  (pointing  to  other  PRISONERS)  . 
MONASKA.     You  seem  suspicious. 
WAPELLA  (excitedly).     Dare  you  tackle  them? 
MONASKA  (angrily) . 

Talk  not  of  daring!     I  will  tackle  you. 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  39 

WAPELLA  (excited,  but  trying  to  control  himself) . 
Forgive   me — Why,    you   know    I    am    your 

friend. 
We  all  are  friends.     Monaska,  will  you  join 

us? 
MONASKA.     Turn    traitor    to    the    ones    that 

saved  us? — No. 
WAPELLA.     But   to   your   own  land  and   your 

landsmen,  yes. 

MONASKA    (drawing    his    club,    and    springing 
toward  WAPELLA)  . 

That  you  must  prove,  or 

(WAPELLA  draws  his  club  and  defends  himself.) 
GUARD  (at  the  gate).     Hold! 

Enter — Left — other  GUARDS  and  OFFICER. 
They  separate,  with  spears,  MONASKA 
and  WAPELLA. 
WAPELLA  (to  MONASKA). 

Now  you  have  proved  it. 
OFFICER  (to  MONASKA  and  WTAPELLA). 

Your  clubs. 

MONASKA.     We  were  adopted.     We  are  free. 
OFFICER  (as  he  motions  to  the   GUARDS   to   take 

the  clubs  away  from  the  two  prisoners). 
You  will  not  need  these,  then,  to  guard  your 
selves. 

(The  GUARDS  take  the  clubs.) 
Enter — through  the  curtains  at  the  Left — 
HAIJO,  KOOTHA  and  his  COMPANION. 


40  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

(HAIJO  ascends  the  steps  of  the  pyra 
mid  near  the  rugs.     In  his  hand  is  a 
parchment.) 
OFFICER    (to    MONASKA,    WAPELLA    and    other 

prisoners) . 

Stand  back,  and  hear  the  royal  proclamation. 
HAIJO  (reading) . 

Know,  all  ye  captives,  who  have  proved  your 

worth 

By  warding  off  when  in  the  brunt  of  war 
The  stroke  aimed  well  to  fell  you ,  know  to-day 
This  temple  celebrates  its  yearly  f  £te ; 
And  hither  wend  the  maidens  of  the  realm. 
Commend  yourselves  to  them,  and  woman's 

love, 

Like  that  which  gave  our  land  its  natural  sons, 
Will  make  you  sons  of  its  adoption,  sons 
And  lovers,  fit  to  claim  their  heart's  devotion. 
For  why  should  brave  springs  flow  to  waste, 

and  not 

Augment  the  channels  of  the  nation's  life? — 
Go  seek  your  cells,  make  ready,  and  come 

forth, 

And  know  the  highest  honors  wait  for  him 
Whose  charms  prove  greatest  for  the  greatest 

number. 
MONASKA  (to  WAPELLA)  . 

There,  there.     I  told  you  so. 
WAPELLA.  Well,  we  shall  see 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  4! 

MONASKA.     That  I  shall  wed  the  woman  of  my 

choice. 
Exeunt — Right — all  the  PRISONERS  except  WAP- 

ELLA. 
KOOTHA  (to  his  COMPANION  and  looking  toward 

MONASKA)  . 
What   fools   we    are   when   we   would    read 

ourselves. 

He  thinks  he  craves  the  honors  promised  him 
Whose  charms  prove  greatest  for  the  greatest 
f  number.  .  -,->^ 

Alas,  the  one  thing  that  his  nature  craves, 
Is  not  a  number. 
Exeunt — Right — WAPELLA,  followed  by  some  of 

the  GUARDS. 
(KOOTHA  continues  to  talk  to  his  COMPANION.) 

Ah!     That  proclamation 
Was  worthy  of  the  priest  that  penned  it. 
COMPANION.  Why? 

KOOTHA.     Must  be  received  with  faith  to  seem 

a  blessing; 

And  holds  a  promise  that,  whatever  come, 
Will  stand. 

COMPANION.     And  be  fulfilled. 
KOOTHA.  Oh,  yes — inform! 

But  nothing  like  a  priest's  grip  on  a  form 
To  squeeze  the  spirit  out  of  it. 

Enter — Left — WALOON. 
COMPANION.  In    that 


42  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

The    promise    pairs  _with   life;    for   nothing 

earthly 

Fulfills  a  promise  just  as  it  was  given. 
KOOTHA.     Ay,  while  the  eyes  of  hope  are  look 
ing  up, 

The  devil  trips  the  feet.    But  why  should  gods 
Make  priests  play  devil? 
[COMPANION  (noticing  HAIJO  advancing). 

Hold;  you  may  play  die, 
And  go  to  him. 
KOOTHA  (looking  at  HAIJO)  . 

Oh,  no,  no!     After  death 
I  think  I  shall  be  freed  from  following  him.] 

(The  day  grows  gradually  brighter.) 
Exit — Left — through  the  curtains — KOOTHA  and 

his  COMPANION. 
WALOON  (to  HAIJO). 

Can  it  be  true? 
HAIJO  What  true? 

WALOON.  Why,  that  the  king 

Will  put  Monaska  to  the  maidens'  test? 
HAIJO.     Of  course. 
WALOON .  Of  course  ? 

HAIJO.  Why  not? 

WALOON.  ,       Because  the  king 

Adopted  him. 
HAIJO.  But  you  would  not  deprive 

The  captive  of  his  rights? 
WALOON.  His  rights? 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  43 

HAIJO.  What  right 

Can  any  man  have  grander  than  to  be 
A  god? 

[WALOON.     A  few- weeks'  god? 

HAIJO.  Why,  yes.     You  know 

The  joy  of  life  is  in  its  quality, 
Not  quantity.     A  heaven  on  earth — what  is  it 
But  having  what  one  wishes? 

WALOON.  This  is  cruel. 

HAIJO.     There  are  a  score  or  more  of  prisoners. 
We  need  a  man  whose  bearing  can  supply 
Attractions  that  will  draw  the  souls  of  all 
Toward  him  and  toward  the  god  he  represents. 
The  surest  way  of  choosing  such  a  man 
Is  this  one  which  the  royal  will  decrees. 

WALOON.     You  know  his  beauty.     They  would 
all  choose  him. 

HAIJO.     Oh,  no  no;  only  some! — and  if  they  all 

did, 

Would  it  be  just  in  us  to  fail  for  this 
To  let  him  be  the  chosen  of  the  gods? 

WALOON.     No, — of  the  maidens. 

HAIJO.  Of  the  maidens'  love. 

And  what  than  woman's  love  is  more  like 
gods'? 

WALOON.     Oh,  this  is  fearful,  fearful !     Think  of 
me. 

HAIJO.     Of  you?] 

WALOON.  I  love  him. 


44  THE  AZTEC  GOD, 

HAIJO.  Then,  if  he  should  be 

The  chosen  of  the  gods,  this  would  confirm 
Your  choice,  and  thus  exalt  both  him  and  you. 

[WALOON.     But  then  he  would  belong — oh,  not 

to  me! 
But  to  the  world,  and  to  the  world  of  women. 

HAIJO.     The  thought  of  that  is  not  inspiring? 

WALOON.  No. 

And  soon  he  would  be  gone 

HAIJO.  Among  the  gods.] 

WALOON.     I  would  not  have  him  there.     I  wish 
him  here. 

HAIJO.     If  earth  held  all  our  souls  could  wish, 

no  soul 
Could  ever  wish  for  heaven. 

WALOON.  My  heaven  holds  love. 

And  what  thrives  there  thrives  here,  and  has  a 

right 
To  all  things  men  can  rightly  let  it  have. 

[HAIJO.     Save  when  the  gods 

WALOON.  The  gods  I  cannot  seer 

In  front  of  me  what  I  see  is  a  man. 

HAIJO.     Then  pray  the  gods  to  give  you  light. 

WALOON.  How  can 

I  pray  the  gods  to  give  me  light,  if  those 
That  have  been  sent  to  lead  me  where  it  shines 
Forever  stand  betwixt  my  soul  and  it?] 
Enter — Left  Rear— the  KING  with  ATTENDANTS. 

WALOON  (to  the  KING). 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  45 

Great  sire,  they  plan  to  do  a  great  wrong  here. 
KING.     How  so?     It  shall  be  righted. 
HAIJO  (to  the  KING).  She  would  keep 

Monaska  from  the  test  that  makes  him  god. 
KING.     Oh — but — he  has  a  right  to  it. 
WALOON.  Yet,  sire, 

A  right  that  wrongs  your  kindly  pardoning 

him. 
KING.     Why  no,  no!  all  our  captives  have  that 

right. 
WALOON.     But,  sire,  he,  he  would  be  the  choice 

of  all. 
KING.     So  much  more  reason  he  should  have  his 

chance. 

WALOON.     But  I — I — love  him. 
HAIJO.  If  you  loved  him  truly, 

You  scarce  would  dare  to  stand  between  him, 

then, 

And  that  which  lifts  him  to  the  gods. 
[WALOON.  You  know 

I  pleaded  for  his  life. 

(turning  toward  the  KING.) 

You  gave  it  him. 

Now  all  of  you  seem  plotting  for  his  death. 
HAIJO.     Monaska  had  his  choice. 
WALOON.  His  choice? 

HAIJO.  Why,  yes. 

WALOON.     When  was  it? 
HAIJO.     In  the  woods.     "  More  blest, "  he  cried, 


46  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

"More  blest  the  short-lived  moths  that  fly  to 

flame 
Straight  through  a  pathway  lit  by  coming 

light 
Than  long-lived  worms  that  crawl  through 

endless  mire."] 
(The  KING  nods  approvingly,  and  moves  on  with 

ATTENDANTS  toward  the  pyramid.) 
WALOON  (to  HAIJO). 
You  told  him  all? 

HAIJO.  Oh,  no,  not  all.     Why  should  I? 

WALOON.     Then  I  will  tell  him. 
HAIJO.  When  the  priests  enj'oin  it. 

Till  then,  the  only  lips  that  can  reveal 
One     temple-secret     speak    from    realms    of 

death. 

And  if  as  yet  they  have  not  entered  these, 
It  will  become  our  duty  to  transfer  them. 
WALOON  (surprised). 

I  cannot  speak  to  him? 
HAIJO.  Speak  all  you  wish. 

But  if  he  learn  too  much,  he  cannot  hide  it. 
WALOON.     Oh,  cruel!     I  may  speak — show  all 

I  wish — 
Except  what  fills  the  fount  from  which  it 

springs. 

Alas,  what  pain — what  pain  alone — can  keep 
The  ever-swelling,  surging,  flood  within? — 
Go  bid  the  lake  sleep  on  unheard,  unseen, 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  47 

Whose  tribute-streams  are  dashed  from  cata 
racts, 
Or  waves  are  whirled  by  winds  up  toward  the 

clouds 

HAIJO.     Ah,  has  it  gone  so  far? 
WALOON.  Oh,  sire,  too  oft, 

A  mood  but  half  expressed  is  all  distressed. 
What  now  is  left  my  soul ! 

HAIJO.  One  course  is  left. 

The  surest  way  to  keep  from  feeling  things 
Is  not  to  touch  them. 

WALOON.  What  were  best  for  me, 

Is  not  the  question.     I  would  ward  from  him 
The  fatal  blight  that  follows  woman's  love, 
Accursed  love,  that  makes  the  brightest  eye 
A  sunglass  through  which  heaven  would  wilt 

the  soul, 

And  by  the  very  pleasure  beauty  gives 
Mete  out  the  measure  of  impending  doom. 
HAIJO.     What  will  you  do  then? 
WALOON.  Save  him  if  I  can. 

(Blast  of  trumpets,  followed  by  music.     The 
KING  and  ATTENDANTS  arrange  them 
selves  on  the  rugs  at  the  base  of  the  pyra 
mid.     The  gate  backing  at  the  Right 
Center  is  thrown  open.} 
Exit — Right — very  hastily,  WALOON. 
HAIJO  (to  the  KING). 

Poor  fool !     She  does  not  know  the  surest  way 


48  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

To  guard  her  lover  from  the  love  of  all 

Is  letting  him  alone.     About  the  lips 

Found  sweet  by  merely  one,  all  swarm  like 

bees. 

But  let  that  one  forsake  him  all  forsake  him. 
Enter — through  the  Gate  backing  at  the 
Right  Center — Procession  of  MAIDENS 
and  others,  bearingbanners  and  wreaths 
and  decorated  with  flowers.  All  sing 
the  following: 

Where  dwell  the  gods? 
Where  dwell  the  gods? 
Oh,  dwell  they  in  the  sky? 
Or  come  they  near  in  gloom  or  gleam 
Of  earth  or  air  or  wood  or  stream? — 

Oh,  yes,  the  gods  are  all  on  high; 
But,  robed  in  all  that  teem  or  seem 
Where  eye  can  spy  or  fancy  fly, 
The  gods  are  always  nigh. 

How  speak  the  gods? 
How  speak  the  gods? 
In  thunder  from  the  sky? 
In  storms  that  o'er  the  cloud-banks  pour, 
Or  dash  in  waves  along  the  shore? — 
Oh,  yes,  the  gods  are  all  on  high; 
But  not  alone  in  rush  and  roar, 

Wherever  breeze  or  breath  can  sigh 
The  gods  are  always  nigh. 

How  touch  the  gods? 
How  touch  the  gods? 
Oh,  reach  they  from  the  sky 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  49 

Wherever  airy  fingers  brush 

The  leaves  that  throb,  the  cheeks  that  flush? — 

Oh,  yes,  the  gods  are  all  on  high ; 
But  in  the  thrills  that  fill  the  hush 

When  naught  without  is  passing  by, 
The  gods  are  always  nigh. 

Where  look  the  gods? 

Where  look  the  gods? 

In  glances  from  the  sky 

Down  through  the  lightning's  death-dealt  blaze, 
Or  thrilling  through  the  starry  rays? — 

Oh,  yes,  the  gods  are  all  on  high ; 
But  in  the  looks  that  on  us  gaze 
From  out  the  love-lit  human  eye 
The  gods  are  always  nigh. 

(While    singing,    the    MAIDENS    arrange 
themselves  in  line  from  Front  to  Rear 
at  the  Left.) 
KING  (looking  toward  the  Right). 

And  now  bring  forth  the  prisoners. 
OFFICER  (standing  near  the  Right.)      They  come. 
KING  (gesturing  with  his  right  hand). 
Arrange  them  there  in  line. 

Enter — Right — CAPTIVES,  and  are  marched 
and  formed  in  a  line  at  the  Right 
between   the   gateway   and   the    Front 
of  the  stage.     MONASKA   enters  last, 
and  stands  nearest  the  Right  Front. 
Enter — at  the  Right  Front — WALOON,  and  stands 
at  the  Right  of  MONASKA. 


50  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

KING.  Now  shall  the  eyes 

Of  gods  above  look  through  the  brightest  eyes 
Whose  glances  light   the   earth;   and  whom 

those  eyes 
Adore  the  most,  him  too  shall  all  adore. 

(The  KING,  looking  at  the  CAPTIVES,  converses 
with  his  ATTENDANTS.) 

(The  MAIDENS  look  at  the  CAPTIVES,  especially 

at  those  nearest  the  gateway,  and  converse  together.) 

WALOON  (to  MONASKA,  in  a  half  whisper,  and  not 

observed  by  others  except  him). 
Monaska. 

MON  AS  K  A  .     What  ? 

WALOON.  Look  this  way. 

MONASKA.  Could    I    else?— 

(gesturing  and  looking  toward  the  MAIDENS.) 
Yet  must  I  seek  the  favor  of  these  maids. 

WALOON.     Is  not  the  favor  of  one  maid  enough? 

MONASKA.     Enough  and  more — yet  here 

WALOON.  Confide   in  me. 

MONASKA.     Yes,  wholly. 

WALOON  .  Then  be  wholly  what  I  wish . 

MONASKA.     Be  what? 

WALOON.         One  who  will  not  attract  attention. 

MONASKA.     Why,  then — • — • 

WALOON.  You  might  seem  wholly  mine. 

MONASKA  (looking  toward  the  other  MAIDENS). 

I  see — 
0  brightest  hour  of  all  my  life! — I  see 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  51 

You  love — and  love,  if  shorn  of  jealousy, 
Drops  half  its  charms,  like  maids  whose  locks 

are  clipped, 

And  better  might  be  boys,  or  bald-head-babes. 
WALOON  (taking  him  by  the  sleeve). 

Monaska. 
MONASKA  (continuing  to  look  at  the  others). 

Doubt  me! — But  I  know,  at  times, 
Deceit  that  spices  daintily  with  doubt 
The   plain-served   truth   more   seasons   it   to 

taste. 
WALOON  (touching  him  again,  and  moving  toward 

the  Right  Front  Entrance) . 
Here — something  this  way  I  would  have  you 

see! 

MONASKA  (looking  at  her,  then  at  the  others). 
I  must  not  lose  my  chances  with  the  maids. 
And  yet — a  moment — then  I  can  return. 

(turns  toward  WALOON  and  bows.) 
The  highest  honors  wait  for  him  alone 
Whose  charms  prove  greatest  for  the  greatest 
number. 

Exit— Right— WALOON. 
Exit— Right— MONASKA. 
KING  (to  the  MAIDENS). 
Now  to  select  your  mates. 

(to  the  CAPTIVES.) 

Come  forward,  men. 
(to    HAIJO,    looking    toward    the    Right    Front.) 


52  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

Saw  you  those  two  depart  ? — She  plans  to  tell 

him. 

(MAIDENS  and  CAPTIVES  mingle  and  talk.) 
HAIJO  (to  the  KING). 

She  will  not ;  no.     She  will  not  dare. 
KING.  What  then? 

HAIJO.     They  will  return. 
KING.  But  if  they  love? 

HAIJO.  Then  she 

Will  play  the  woman,  try  to  fascinate 
His  eye,  spell-bound  till  blind  to  charms  of 

others. 

KING.     And  he? 
HAIJO.         He  is  a  man.     What  man  will  barter 

Self-love  for  woman's  love? 
KING.  He  may. 

HAIJO.  If  so, 

Some  other  will  be  chosen. 
KING.  He  must  be  it. 

HAIJO.    Safe  statement,  sire!    Small  danger  any 

man 
Will    waive    his    chances    for    the    highest 

honor 

To  please  a  heart  whose  love  is  won  already. 
KING.     You  may  be  right. 
HAIJO.  It  might  be  well  to  send 

A  message  to  remind  him  of  his  chances. 
(to  a  MESSENGER,  and  pointing  toward  the  Right 
Front  Entrance.) 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  53 

Saw  you  those  two  retiring  to  the  right  ? — 
Remind  them  of  the  royal  proclamation. 
Exit — Right  Front — MESSENGER. 

(Music    and    dance    in    which    CAPTIVES    and 
MAIDENS  join.     As  the  dancing  ends,} 

Enter — Right    Front — MONASKA   and  WALOON. 

MONASKA.     You    will    not    dance    with    me, 
Waloon? 

WALOON.  No,  no; 

[Not  here. 

MONASKA.     Then  I  shall  have  to  dance  alone 

WALOON.     Why  should  you  dance  at  all? 

MONASKA.  Why? — Ask    the    leaves 

The  reason  why  they  vibrate  in  the  breeze, 
Or  ask  the  trees  when  swaying  in  the  storm ; 
Ask  of  the  spray-drop  leaping  from  the  rill, 
Or  up  and  down  amid  the  waves  at  sea ; 
Ask  of  the  circling  smoke,  tornado's  cloud, 
The    sun    and    moon    revolving    round    the 

world, 

But  when  the  throb  of  music  beats  the  air 
And  sets  the  currents  of  the  breast  in  motion, 
Sweeping  the  bounding  rills  to  rhythmic  waves 
That  dash  like  breakers  through  the  heart  and 

pulse, 

Ask  not  why  every  vein  begins  to  glow, 
Each  nerve  to  tremble,  all  the  frame  to  heave, 
And  to  and  fro  to  march,  to  leap,  to  dance, — 
Enough — if  natural! — When  checking  nature, 


54  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

You  lay  your  human  hands  upon  the  work 
Heaven  meant  for  what  it  is;  you  are  profane. 

(he  makes  motions  of  dancing.} 
FIRST  MAIDEN  (pointing  toward  MONASKA  and 

speaking  to  SECOND  MAIDEN). 
There  comes  another. 
SECOND  M.  Where? 

FIRST    M.  There  with  Waloon. 

THIRD  M.     Oh,  see! 
FIRST  M.  We  go  to  him. 

SECOND    M.  No,  no;  not  yet. 

Look  there  at  that  one. 
(pointing  toward  WAPELLA,  who  is  near  the  Right 

Rear  Entrance.} 
THIRD  M.  Which  one? 

SECOND  M.  That  one  there. 

(All  three  MAIDS  move  toward   the  Right  Rear 

Entrance.}} 

WALOON  (trying  to  draw  MONASKA  toward  the 
Right  Front  Entrance}. 

Monaska,  do  come  this  way — do — I  fear 

MONASKA.     You  must  not  fear  for  me. 

WALOON.  You  do  not  know 

MONASKA  (taking  her  hand}. 

You  tremble. 
WALOON.  Oh,    love,   do  have   faith  in 

me! 

MONASKA.     And  have  I  none?     You  tremble 
like  a  bird 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  55 

That  once  I  caught.     Poor  thing,  I  could  not 

harm  it, 

So  beautiful,  so  soft,  with  chirp  so  sweet! 
WALOOX.     But  if  you  look  that  way,  you  do  not 

love  me. 
MONASKA.     And  am  I  everything  to  you  that 

you 

Should  fancy  you  are  everything  to  me? 
WALOON.     And  am  I  not  then? 
MOXASKA.  What  a  fire  divine 

Must    blaze   within   a   woman's   heart,    who 

deems 

That  her  one  form  all  glowing  where  it  kindles, 
Must  cinder  all  things  else ! 
WALOOX.  Do  men  love  less? 

MOXASKA.     Nay,  but  have  eyes  for  things  they 

do  not  love. 

And  I,  you  know,  am  young,  have  seen  not 
much,  (looking  toward  the  MAIDEXS 
again.) 

And  nothing  of  these  rites  you  know  so  well. 
WALOOX.     That  whets  my  fear.     I  know  them 

all  too  well. 
MOXASKA.     My  nerves  are  sensitive  to  form 

and  hue. 

A  little  flitting  of  the  two  but  serves 
To  irritate  and  make  me  itch  for  more. 
But  let  me  once  be  free  to  bound  and  whirl 
And  scratch  my  gaze  upon  them  in  the  dance, 


56  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

What  cures  me  will  not  scar  below  the  surface. 
Yes ;  I  have  better  avenues  through  which 
These  outer  visions  reach  the  heart.     Besides, 
That  now  is  wholly  filled.     No  room  is  left 
For  more   than   one.     Believe   me,   I   speak 
truth. 

WALOON.     I  know — I  do  not  doubt  you,  but 

MONASKA  (laughing).  You  do. 

Come,  come,  confess  now.     You  are  jealous  of 

me. 
WALOON.      Not    so!      No,    you    mistake    me. 

Would  the  gods 

Would  tell  you  why,  or  let  me  tell  you  why! 
MONASKA.     You  dare  not  tell  me? 
WALOON.  Nay,  I — Come. 

MONASKA.  I  will. 

(then,  as  WALOON  moves  toward  the  Right  Front 

Entrance) 

You  mean  some  untold  penalty  awaits 
The  one  who  fails  to  win  the  maidens'  favor? 
(turns  to  follow  WALOON,  just  as  HAIJO  reaches 

him,  coming  from  the  rear.) 
HAIJO  (to  MONASKA). 

What,  man,  you  fear  not  you  are  losing  time? 
MONASKA  (to  HAIJO). 

When  gaining  something  better? 
HAIJO.  What  is  better? 

MONASKA.     The   worth   of   time   is   measured 
like  a  gem's 


-,  THE  AZTEC  GOD.  57 

Not  by  its  bulk  but  by  its  brilliancy. 
HAIJO.     Just  what  I  told  Waloon  you  thought. 
(to  WALOON  who  is  listening.)     Not  so? 

(to   MONASKA.) 

But  you — you  heard  the  royal  proclamation? 
MONASKA.     I  did. 
HAIJO.  And  you  would  waive  the 

highest  honor? 
MONASKA.     For   something   else,   could   I   not 

have  them  both. 
HAIJO.     And  wherefore  not  have  both? — 

(to    WALOON.)     You    know,    Waloon, 

He  can. 

MONASKA  (to  WALOON).     I  can,  Waloon? 
WALOON.  Have  I  not  said? — 

Will  you  believe? 

HAIJO  This  maiden,  or  the  king? — 

MONASKA.     This  maiden. 

HAIJO.  Treason! 

MONASKA.  And  the  king. 

HAIJO.  Prove  that 

By  joining  in  the  dance. — Come, — both  to 
gether. 

WALOON.    Not  I ! 
MONASKA  (aside  to  WALOON). 

Waloon,  you  need  not  fear  for  me, 

For  if  I  venture  in  the  dance  at  all, 

I  dance  to  win. 
WALOON  (anxiously).     No,  no;  I  meant 


58  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

(MAIDENS  gather  arowwd  MONASKA  and  WALOON.) 
FIRST  MAIDEN  (to  MONASKA.)     Come,  come. 

And  dance  with  us  if  not  with  her. 
SECOND  M.  Come    on. 

THIRD  M.     Yes,  come. 
FIRST  M.  You  must. 

THIRD  M.  No  backing  out! 

SECOND  M.  (taking  his  hand).    With  me. 

(They  drag  him  with  them  into  the  dance.) 
WALOON  (to  HAIJO,  as  she  watches  MONASKA.) 
Why  did  he  not  believe  me?     He  is  lost! 
(All  the  MAIDENS  and  CAPTIVES  dance.} 

Exit — Right — WALOON  . 
KING.     Now,  silence!     Let   the  maids   declare 

their  choice, 
Their  chief  choice,  gathering  round  his  figure 

whom 
The  god  of  love  that  looks  through  love-lit 

eyes, 
The     spirit     that     inspires     love-throbbing 

hearts, 

Finds  dowered  with  dignity  and  manly  grace 
And  beauty,  and  all  heart-inspiring  charms 
That  fitly  can  incarnate  love's  ideal. 

Music. 

(The  Captives  stand  in  a  line  at  the  Right  of 
the  stage;  MONASKA  not  far  from  its 
front.  The  MAIDENS  march  along 
the  line  of  the  CAPTIVES,  and  drop 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  59 

flowers  or  wreaths  in  front  of  MON- 
ASKA.  Some  drop  them  in  front  of 
others,  but,  seeing  that  MONASKA  will 
surely  be  chosen,  they  take  the  flowers 
from  others  and  cast  them  before  him, 
and  gather  around  him.  ) 

KING  (descending  from  his  seat  on  the  pyramid 
and  taking  MONASKA  by  the  hand,  pointing 
with  his  free  hand  toward  the  seat  he  has 
just  left,  at  the  same  time  bowing  to  MON 
ASKA). 

Chosen  of  love,  now  bow  we  to  your  worth. 
We  yield  to  you,  and  lead  you  to  your  place. 
(All  except  the  KING  prostrate  themselves  before 

MONASKA.) 
MONASKA.     You  do  me  too  much  honor. 

(The  KING   bows,   and  shakes  his   head, 

while    he    begins    to    lead    MONASKA 

toward    the   seat    at    the    base    of   the 

pyramid.     Just  as  they  reach  it, 

Enter — at  the  Right  Front — throwing  up  her  hands 

in  grief,  WALOON.) 

WALOON.  Chosen?    Lost! 

The  PEOPLE  chant: 

Where  look  the  gods? 

Where  look  the  gods? 
In  glances  from  the  sky 

Down  through  the  lightning's  death-dealt  blaze, 
Or  thrilling  through  the  starry  rays? — 


60  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

Oh,  yes,  the  gods  are  all  on  high ; 
But  in  the  looks  that  on  us  gaze 
From  out  the  love-lit  human  eye, 
The  gods  are  always  nigh. 

CURTAIN. 


ACT  THIRD. 

SCENE: — Same  as  in  Act  Second.     The  Gate  back 
ing  at  the  Right  Center  is  open.    Guards  beside  it. 
Enter — Left — KOOTHA  and  his  COMPANION. 
KOOTHA  (to  his  COMPANION). 

[If  what  the  priesthood  teach  us  be  the  truth, 
Ay,  if  the  gods  do  everything,  themselves, 
Why  should  they  smut  our  mortal  souls    to 

stoke 

The  fuel  of  their  smoking  fires  on  earth? 
If  they  see  everything,  what  need  that  we 
Play  spy  here  to  Monaska  and  Waloon? — 
Trail  like  a  reptile's  tail  to  prove  them  brutes, 
Where'er  the  love  goes,  which  but  proves  them 

human? 
The  power  that  makes  a  man  who  would  stand 

straight 

Prostrate  and  prostitute  his  nobler  nature, 
Sneak,  dodge,  crawl,  shadow  spirits  bright  as 

theirs 

May  come  from  gods,  but,  if  so,  they  have  lent 
This  part  of  their  dominion  to  a  devil. 
Perhaps  they  have — who  knows? — The  priest 
hood  say, 

61 


62  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

When  earth  is  dark,  by  contrast  heaven  is 

bright — 

How  could  a  mortal  ever  guess  the  greed 
Of  gods  for  being  glorified,  unless 
What  made  mankind  had  damned  the  most  of 

them 

To  show  how  good  it  could  be  saving  others? — 
How  good! — Ah,  strange  how  much  would  not 

be  thought 
Were    it    not    taught!     A    plague    on    their 

presumption 

Who  first  began  to  teach,  and  teach  religion! 
As  if,  forsooth,  the  heaven  would  be  all  dark 
Without  our  great  lights  of  the  temple  here 
To  thrust  their  smoking  torches  toward  it! — 

bah!— 
Well,  well,  who  knows? — One  thing,  at  least, 

I  know : 

They  sin  who  shove  a  man  and  maid  together ; 

And  make  it  sin  for  them  to  touch  each  other.] 

Enter — through  the   Gate  at   the  Right  Center — 

MAIDENS,  talking  loudly. 
Hello!   these   belles   of   ours   proclaim   their 

presence 

As  ever  by  their  tongues.  Oh,  for  a  pipe 
To  pitch  them  to  my  tune;  ay,  ay,  a  pipe 
To  blow  them  up  with,  make  them  flip,  flap, 

flop 
And  whir  for  me,  and  stir  the  dust  for  me, 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  63 

And    make    them    all    my  puppets.      I  will 

try  it. 

Waloon  might  dodge  away  from  them  alive; 
But  from  Monaska,  be  there  none  to  check 
The  love  she  bears  him,   she  will  have  no 

chance. 

FIRST  MAIDEN.     Oh,  he  is  lovely! 
SECOND  M.  An  ideal  god! 

FIRST  M.     His  form  so  graceful! 
SECOND  M.  Yes,  and  so  well  built! 

THIRD  M.     His  touch  so  gentle! 
FIRST  M.  Such  a  godlike  flush 

On  all  his  flesh! 

THIRD  M.  And  flowering  in  his  cheeks ! 

[FIRST  M.     He  seems  a  spirit  lured  to  gates  of 

dawn 
Who,   venturing   near   the   clouds   when   all 

aflame, 

Has  been  snatched  up  within  their  ardent  arms 
And  borne  to  earth  with  all  their  glow  about 

him. 
SECOND  M.     And  from  his  lips  that  have  not 

lost  the  tint 
Of  daybreak  yet,  there  breathe  forth  sweeter 

sighs 
Than  morning  air  brings  when  it  drinks  the 

dew. 

FIRST  M.     Ay,  ay,  than  morning  air  brings  when 
it  rings 


64  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

With  all  the  choruses  of  all  the  birds. 
THIRD  M.     That  warmth  of  welcome  in  his  eyes 

too! 

FIRST    M.  Yes, 

And  fire  behind  them,  fire  that  when  one 

feels 
The  innermost  recesses  of  the  soul 

Begin  to 

KOOTHA  (interrupting  her). 

Burn. — Confess  they  burn. 
FIRST  M.  (to  KOOTHA). 

Who  spoke 
To  you,  uncouth  one?     Off! 

(continuing  to  other  MAIDENS.) 

They  rout  the  gloom 

Within  the  heart  sure  as  the  morning  sun 
That    spreads  new  glory  o'er  the  darkened 

world, 

The  while  its  fire-sped  lances  tilt  the  shades 
That    fly    afar,    and    leave    our    lives    with 

heaven.] 
KOOTHA.     My,  my !  how  mighty  fine  my  fancies 

are! 
SECOND  M.     A  woman's  fancy  may  be  near  the 

truth. 
KOOTHA.     As   near  as  fire  to  water.     Yonder 

pool 

Is  truth.     The  sunbeam  it  reflects  is  fancy. 
One  water  is,  one  fire.     But,  as  you  say, 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  65 

The  flaming  of  his  eye  has  turned  the  sap 

Once  oozing  from  your  useless  lips  to 

(hesitating.} 

SECOND    M.  What? 

KOOTHA.     Why,  flames  turn  sap  to  soft  and 

sticky  sirup. 
[Tell  now  which  sweet  lips  were  they  that  the 

god's 

Were  stuck  to  last? 
FIRST  M.         You  heartless  man!     You  know 

We  love  the  god. 
KOOTHA.  Oh,  yes! — the  god  in  man — 

The  god  it  takes  a  woman's  eye  to  see. 
SECOND  M.       And  what,  pray,  is  it  that  men 

worship? 

KOOTHA.  Oh, 

The  thing  that  most  men  worship  is   them 
selves. 

Or,  look  they  upward,  then  it  is  the  god 
Most  like  themselves.     You  know  religion's 

aim 

Is  bringing  gods  and  men  together ;  so 
To  many  men  that  creed  seems  best,  which 

best 

Makes  out  how  mean  and  small  a  god  can  be. 
SECOND  M.  (saucily). 

Does  that  mean  anything? 
KOOTHA.  You  think  not? 

SECOND  M.  No. 

5 


66  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

KOOTHA.     Not  so?  not  so? — Come  back  then  to 

your  range — ] 
Which  one  of  you  was  it,  the  god  kissed  last? 

FIRST  M.     Is  knowing  that  your  business? 

THIRD   M.  Just  so! 

KOOTHA.     Oh  yes, — the  business  of  all  men. 

FIRST  M.  Why? 

KOOTHA.     Have  you  observed  which  maid  it  is 

that  proves 
The  most  attractive  to  the  most  men? 

SECOND  M.  No. 

THIRD  M.     Tell  which? 

FIRST  M.  Yes,  tell  us. 

KOOTHA.  Why,  of  course,  the  one 

The  most  attractive  to  the  most  of  them. 
Ha,  ha! 

(continuing,  as  they  turn  away  in  anger.} 

You  see  that  most  men  are  such  apes 
They  never  know  which  girl  to  go  for  next, 
Until  they  see  where  some  one  else  has  gone. 

SECOND  M.  (sarcastically). 

Aha!  you  think  that  we  wish  you,  then? 

KOOTHA.  Yes, — 

Away  from  here.     But,  frankly  now,  my  mind 
Had  stumbled  on  the  impression  that  a  maid 
Looks  on  her  lovers  as  a  Toltec  brave 
On  scalps :  she  likes  to  see  them  hanging  on 
Her  neck — at  least  in  presence  of  such  mates 
As  make  no  conquests. 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  67 

SECOND  M.  (sarcastically). 

Ah?  and  who  are  they? 
KOOTHA.     The  town  will  find  them  out,  some 

day,  I  guess. 

THIRD  M.     Not  our  fault,  then? 
KOOTHA.  Humph,  what  are  women  for? 

And  what  are  you  about  the  temple  for? 
THIRD  M.     Go  ask  Waloon. 
SECOND  M.  Yes,  yes,  go  ask  Waloon. 

KOOTHA.     Ah,  then  there  is  a  favored  one  I  see. 
SECOND  M.     Did  I  say  that? 
KOOTHA.  You  had  no  need.     You  know 

A  friend  can  heed  the  meaning  of  our  thought 
Unhelp'd  by  word  or  gesture. 
FIRST  M.  You  a  friend? — 

Drive  off  Waloon  then. 

KOOTHA.  I? — a  woman-driver? — 

But  were  she  more  the  dove  that  he  esteems 

her, 

And  you  still  less  old  hens  than  you  appear, 
I  think  you  might  find  bills  to   settle  with 

her, 
And  raise  a  cackle  that  would  make  her  fly. 

(to  his  COMPANION) 
Ugh !    I    have    roughed    their  feathers    now 

enough. 
Poor,  poor  Waloon ! — and  yet  her  only  safety. 

Enter — Left — WALOON. 
Ah,  there  she  is  herself. 


68  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

FIRST  M.  (noticing  WALOON). 

Oh,  here  comes  one 

That  loves  the  god.     How  nice  to  love  a  god! 
SECOND  M.     But  not  so  nice  to  pose  as  loving 

one, 

And  only  love  a  man. 
FIRST  M.  You  wait  awhile. 

When    they    have    spilt    the    spirit    in    that 

vessel, — 

Ay,  when  the  blood  is  drained,  it  may  not  then 
Appear  to  her  so  rare  and  rose-like. 
SECOND  M.  (to  WALOON,  sarcastically}.  Ah, 

You  seem  surprised? 
WALOON.  I  am. 

THIRD  M.  And  grieved? 

WALOON.  And  more. 

ALL  THE  MAIDENS.     Ha,  ha,  ha,  ha! 
WALOON.  I  am  surprised  and  grieved, 

And  more  than  this — to  think  that  you  are 

women. 
KOOTHA  (to  his  COMPANION). 

Aha!     Had  not  found  out  that  fact  before? — 
She  knows  it  now,  for  they  know  how  to  prove 

it  (to  the  MAIDENS). 
Come,    come,    be    not    so    cruel.     Be    more 

gentle. 
FIRST  M.     Are  cruel,  are  we?     If  she  like  it 

not, 
She  need  not  strike  at  our  likes.     Did  she  deem 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  69 

It  kind  to  push  between  us  and  the  god 
The  wide-spread  drapery  of  her  greedy  arms 
As  if,  forsooth,  our  hope  were  killed,  and  she 
A  vulture  feasting  with  foul  wings  aflap? 
SECOND  M.     Nay,  more,  too,  make  us  laughed 

at,  slighted,  scorned? 
WALOON.     I  did  not  mean  it  so.     This  friend 

of  mine 

Was  mine  before  you  chose  him  for  the  god. 
FIRST  M.     Was  yours? — and  now  you  mean  to 

keep  him  yours? — 

And  so  your  eyes  are  always  dodging  his 
To  catch  their  glances?     Did  you  turn  your 

back, 

You  fear  he  might  forget  you? 
ALL  THE  MAIDENS.  Ha,  ha,  ha! 

Enter— Left— HAIJO. 
Exeunt — Right — KOOTHA    and    his  COMPANION 

as  soon  as  they  catch  sight  of  HAIJO. 
HAIJO  (to  the  MAIDENS). 

Why,  what  can  be  the  matter  here? 
FIRST    M.  Waloon. 

SECOND  M.     Waloon. 
THIRD  M.  Waloon. 

FIRST  M.  She  says  the  god  is  hers. 

HAIJO.     Of  course,  but  not  hers  only! 
FIRST  M.  Yes,  hers  only0 

HAIJO.     Oh,  you  mistook  her! 
THIRD  M.  No. 


70  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

SECOND  M.  Is  what  she  meant. 

FIRST  M.     She  called  him  "mine." 
HAIJO.  Meant  hers? 

FIRST  M.  Yes,  hers. 

SECOND  M.  Hers. 

THIRD   M.  Hers. 

HAIJO  (to  WALOON). 

Can  this  be  true? 
WALOON.     I  said  my  friend  was  mine 

Before  they  chose  him. 
HAIJO.  Ah,  but  they  did  choose  him; 

And  now,  according  to  the  temple's  law 

WALOON  (half  weeping) . 

You  mean  he  is  not  mine,  I  know. 
HAIJO.  My   child, 

I  hoped  your  training 

WALOON.  Do  not  think  that  men 

Can  ever  change  our  nature  by  their  training. 

Nay,  clip,  abuse,  deform  it  as  you  may, 

The  weakest  bush  will  bear  its  own  flower  still, 

And  every  heart  the  love  life  made  it  for. 
[HAijo.     Ah,    so!     You    think!— Who    taught 

you,  pray,  to  think? 
WALOON.     My  mind,  sire,  and  the  gods  from 

whom  it  came. 
HAIJO.     Be  careful,  child;  nor  force  us  to  use 

force. 

WALOON.     Ah,  sire,  sire,  when  you  come  to  deal 
with  thought, 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  7* 

The  only  influence  force  can  have  upon  it 
Is  to  suppress,  but  leave  it  still  possessed. 
If  error  be  in  mind,  it  seems  far  better 
To  let  it  out,  and  so  be  rid  of  it. 
HAIJO.     No  need  that  we  discuss  that  now! 

You  know 
The  temple's  law,  that  when  one  will  wrould 

stand 

Against  the  general  good,  that  will  must  yield. 
WALOON.     I  was  not  speaking  of  my  will,  but 

heart. 
HAIJO.     Well,   call  it  heart   then.     You  have 

thrust  your  love 
Between  these  maidens  and  the  god.     They 

claim 

The  joy  and  profit  of  his  intercourse. 
WALOON.     They  might  have  shared  these  with 

me.     Never  yet, 

Have  I  been  left  alone  with  him. 
HAIJO.  And  who 

Could  claim  exclusive  rights  when  with  the 

gods, 
Whose  eyes  view  all,  whose  arms  embrace  the 

world. 

And  if  incarnate  for  a  time  in  man, 
How  base  in  us  to  tempt  their  high,  pure  life 
Toward  our  low,  selfish,  human  love  for  one! 
WALOON.     Is  that  why  we  were  watched? 
HAIJO.  Did  you  not  need 


72  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

A  hint  that  others  too  had  claims  upon  him? 
What  profit  is  it  though  a  god  may  dwell 
In  human  form,  if  souls,  whom  else  the  god 
Would  lure  to  love  and  draw  to  sympathy 
With  heavenly  thought  and  deed  and  light  and 

life, 

Be  kept  away  from  him  by  one  like  you? 
FIRST  M.     Just  what  we  ask. 
HAIJO.  What  all  the  wise  would  ask.] 

SECOND  M.     She  keeps  us  from  him. 
HAIJO.  If  she   do  this  more 

The  law  will  interfere,  and  part  them  wholly. 
Enter — through  the  gate  backing  at  the 
Right  Center — a  line  of  PRIESTS, 
PRIESTESSES,  etc.,  singing  before  a 
chariot  in  which  MONASKA  is  drawn 
upon  the  stage.  His  head  is  crowned 
with  flowers,  and  he  thumbs  a  lyre- 
like  musical  instrument.  All  sing 
the  following: 

All  hail  the  god!     All  hail  and  laud 

The  god  we  now  enthrone, 
Whose  realms  extend,  all  bright  and  broad 
Beyond  the  seas  and  stars  and  aught 
That  ears  have  heard,  or  eyes  have  sought, 

Or  hands  could  ever  own. 
All  hail  the  god !    All  hail  the  god ! 

Upon  the  man  we  call; 
But  bright  behind  the  gaze  we  greet, 
There  gleams  the  glory  yet  to  meet 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  73 

Our  souls  beholding  past  the  gloom 
Of  toil  and  trouble,  tear  and  tomb, 
The  god  beyond  it  all. 

All  hail  the  god !    All  hail  and  laud 

The  god  we  bow  before, 
Whose  altar  fires,  while  all  are  awed, 
Are  lit  in  souls  that  flash  through  eyes 
That  light  for  heaven  itself  supplies, 

Nor  could  one  wish  for  more. 
All  hail  the  god!     All  hail  the  god! 

Upon  the  man  we  call; 
But  bright  behind  the  gaze  we  greet, 
There  gleams  the  glory  yet  to  meet 
Our  souls  beholding  past  the  gloom 
Of  toil  and  trouble,  tear  and  tomb, 

The  god  beyond  it  all. 

FIRST  M.     (to  MONASKA,  as  he  descends  from 

the  chariot,  while  all  bow  to  him). 
All  hail  the  god! 
SECOND  M.  All  hail! 

THIRD  M.  All  hail! 

FIRST  M.  (noticing  that  he  pays  no  attention  to 
the  salutation  of  the  MAIDENS,  although 
they  are  making  every  effort  to  attract  his 
attention) .  All  hail ! 

MONASKA  (to  the  Maidens). 

I  like  not  hail-storms  but  the  gentler  sunshine. 

[(pushing  through  them  toward  WALOON.) 
Yet  sometimes  through  the  arch-bow  of  the 
storm 


74  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

Life  enters  on  its  heritage  of  hope.] 
(takes  WALOON  by  the  hand,  then,  as  she  does  not 

speak.) 
You  do  not  speak  to  me. — Why  this? — Why 

this? 

WALOON  (gesturing  toward  the  other  MAIDENS)  . 
They  chose  you.     They  have  claims  upon  you 

too. 
MONASKA.     Claims  to  my  gratitude — I   yield 

them  these. 

Claims  to  my  love? — Ah,  no. 
HAIJO.  And  you  will  not 

Accede  then  to  their  claims? 
MONASKA.  Their  sex's  claims 

Are  well  acknowledged,  as  I  think,  by  him 
Who  plights  his  whole  soul's  faith  to  one  of 

them. 
[HAIJO  (gesturing  toward  the  other  MAIDENS)  . 

Nay ;  plight  your  faith  to  all  of  them. 
MONASKA.  To  all?—] 

Why,  I  would  not  insult  these  women  so 
As  to  suggest  that  love  for  one  alone 
Did  not  fill  my  whole  heart  to  overflowing. 
You  seek  here  room  for  more? — Then  you 

mistake. 
(addressing  the  MAIDENS,  who  seem  offended  at  his 

language.) 

And  can  it  be  that  I  had  not  revealed 
The  truth?   Forgive  me.    I  had  meant  to  do  it. 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  75 

The  time  has  come  to  end  your  doubt? — I  will. 

Here  stands  the  holy  father.     Here  stand  we. 

(looking   toward   HAIJO    and   taking   WALOON'S 

hand,  then  leading  her  toward  the  Right.) 
Yes,  it  is  time  our  vows  were  made  in  public. 
What?  what? — you  hesitate? — you  do? — you 

do? 

Exeunt — Right — MONASKA  and  WALOON. 
FIRST  M.  (to  HAIJO). 

And  would  we  better  follow? 
HAIJO.  Wherefore  not? 

The  mood  is  on  her  now  to  thrust  him  off, 
And  if  she  do  but  push  him  far  enough, 
What  should  he  do  but  tumble  then  toward 

you. 
Enter — through  the  gate  at  the  Right  Center — the 

KING  and  ATTENDANTS. 
Exeunt — Right — MAIDENS. 
KING  (to  HAIJO). 

How  fares  it  with  the  god? 
HAIJO.  His  heavenly  mood 

Is  yet  upon  him. 

KING.  He  does  not  suspect? 

HAIJO.     Not  he! — Why,  he  was  just  now  order 
ing  me 

To  seal  his  vows,  and  wed  him  to  Waloon. 
KING.     He  does  not  deem  it  strange  we  honor 

him? 
HAIJO.     Each  to  his  own  conception  is  a  god. 


76  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

Proclaim  him  this,  you  but  concede  a  claim 

Long  felt  within.     He  knew  it  all  before. 
[KING.     The  egotist! 
HAIJO.  Yes,  but  we  all  are  that. 

The  spirit,  we  are  told,  is  made  of  air. 

Like  air  it  is  in  this, — will  force  its  way 

And  feel  full  right  to  enter  and  possess 

Whatever  space  a  crack  or  crevice  opens.] 
KING.     How  to  himself,   does  he  explain  the 
way 

That  all  the  maidens  wait  upon  his  wishes? 
HAIJO.     He  thinks  they  deem  him  lord  of  all 
creation. 

And    so   they    do,    forsooth.     Their    bearing 
proves  it. 

KING.     He  deems  Waloon? 

HAIJO.  His  only,  through  and  through. 

KING.     She  never  can  be  more  completely  his? 
HAIJO.     Impossible. 
KING.  The  time  to  pluck  a  flower 

Is  just  when  in  its  bloom. 
HAIJO.  I  think  so,  sire. 

The  hour  has  come  to  tell  him  of  his  fate. 

A  member  of  our  nearer  tribes  would  know  it. 

He  knows  it  not.     Waloon  now  shuns  him. 
Look  (pointing  to  the  Right.} 

And  he  must  find  excuse  for  this,  or  else 

May  turn  away  from  her,  and  seek  another. 

If  so,  he  may  not  always  keep  her  love. 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  77 

Besides,  Monaska  ought  to  know  the  truth; — 

Is  wasting  time  with  her. 
KING.  Has  naught  to  do 

With  others? 
HAIJO.  No;  and  therefore  should  be  told 

Our  laws  must  part  him  from  her. 
KING  (looking  and  pointing  to  the  Right). 

You  are  right. 

I  see  him  coming  this  way  now. 
HAIJO.  With    some 

Request,  I  warrant. 
KING.  Wise  men  do  not  greet 

A  suppliant  with  too  open  hand  and  heart. 

Did  gentleness  not  midwife  his  desires, 

His  cries  would  sooner  die  for  lack  of  nursing. 

And  so  I  think  they  best  refuse  requests 

Who  best  refuse  to  hear  them.     Let  us  go. 

Exeunt — Left — KING  and  HAIJO. 
Enter — Right — MONASKA  followed   stealthily    by 
WALOON.     (He  notices  the  KING  and  HAIJO). 
MONASKA   (to  WALOON).     A  generous  mind  is 
never  loath  to  face 

The  object  of  its  benefaction.     No; 

Had  all  that  they  have  done  been  kindly  done, 

They  would  not  thus  have  turned  their  backs 
upon  us. 

That  Haijo  is  no  man  to  harbor  trust. 

[He  never  holds  a  steady  eye  to  greet 

The  look  that  rests  on  him.     It  seems  as  if 


78  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

He  feared  that  one  might  spy  within  his  brain 
Some    secret    that    a    dodging    glance    could 

shield. 

I  fear  the  secret  may  concern  yourself. 
For  ever  when  I  lead  you  where  I  hope 
No  mortal  will  be  present  to  profane 
Vows  fit  for  only  gods  to  hear,  some  form, 
With  eyes  omniscient  as  a  very  devil's 
Incarnate  in  an  earthly  messenger, 
Outspawns  its  fouling  shadows  on  the  light 
Like  night-shades  to  the  lost  who  pray  fot 

day. 

Just  now,  when  here  I  came,  he  too  was  here. 
We  left  him  then,  and  you  were  deaf  to  me. 
What  drug  to  hearing  poured  he  in  your  ear 
To  deaden  nerves  hereto  so  sensitive 
To  slightest  whispers  of  my  thrilling  love 
That  hands,  voice,  lips  and  eyelids,  all  your 

frame 

Went  trembling  like  a  willow  in  a  wind? 
It  cannot  be  the  cause  is  in  yourself? — 
Or  is  it? — May  you  merely  pity  me, 
Whose  life  you  saved,  as  thousands  might  be 

saved ; 

And,  moved  by  pity  still  to  note  my  state, 
Thus  hinder  me  from  fully  asking  what, 
If    rightly    answered,    would    but    seal    my 

doom? — 
No,  I  have  asked  you  fully — ay,  and  you — 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  79 

Those  eyes — ah,  naught  but  light  divine  as 
love's 

Could  so  illumine,  so  transfigure  them ! 

Exit — Right — WALOON,  as  if  in  fear  of  HAIJO 
whom  she  has  apparently  seen  approaching. 

Enter — L  eft — Haijo . 
HAIJO.     Alone,  Monaska? 
MONASKA.  Yes. 

HAIJO.  Alone?       Alone? — 

With    all   those    maidens    praying   for  your 

presence? 
MONASKA.     I  dodged  behind  a  tree,  then,  when 

they  left, 
Came  here. 

HAIJO.  A  valiant  warrior! 

MONASKA.  Yes — with    men. 

HAIJO.     With  women? 
MONASKA.  He  with  her  I  think  is  valiant 

Who  waives  what  would  be  force. 
HAIJO.  And  runs  away? 

MONASKA.     Why,  yes,  if  elsewise  he  might  be 

ungentle. 
HAIJO.     Your  waste  of  time  does  not  yet  weigh 

upon  you? 

[MONASKA.     My  what? 
HAIJO.  You  chose  a  life  not  long,  but 

brilliant. 

MONASKA.     If  so— 
HAIJO.         Is  brilliant  now,  but  will  be  brief. 


80  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

MONASKA.     Be  brief? 

HAIJO.  Enough,  I  hope,  to  make  you  ply 

Your  opportunities. 

MONASKA.  And  what  are  they?] 

HAIJO.     You  craved  for  love. 
MONASKA.  Ay,  and  you  promised  it. 

HAIJO.     You  have  it. 

MONASKA.  Have   it? — No,   I  have   it  not. 

HAIJO.     Your  heart  must  be  a  very  glutton  then. 

With  all  these  maids 

MONASKA.          And  what  are  they — to  love? — 
HAIJO.     They  chose  you,   yet   you  turn  your 

back  upon  them. 

MONASKA.     But   you  know  why:     I  turn  my 
back  on  lust 

That  I  may  turn  my  face  to  love. 
HAIJO.  Poor   fool, 

But  one  life  can  you  live,  and  yet  you  lose  it! 
MONASKA.     But  one  love  can  I  keep,  and  I  shall 

keep  it. 
HAIJO.     Too  bad  you  had  not  thought  of  that 

before. 

MONASKA.     Before? 

HAIJO.       Ay,  ay,  before  the  maidens  chose  you. 
MONASKA.     Chose  me,  and  not  I  them. 
HAIJO.  You  courted  them. 

MONASKA.    Oh,  no. 

HAIJO.     You  sighed,  you  smiled,  you  sued,  you 
wooed. 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  8 1 

MONASKA.     You  overstate — 

HAIJO.  What  made  you  leave  Waloon? 

MONASKA.     I  leave  her? 

HAIJO.         You. — When,  just  before  the  dance, 

She  talked  with  you  aside,  and  begged  you  not. 

Were  you  so  wholly  satisfied  with  her, 

That  was  the  time  to  show  it. 
MONASKA.  But — the  king — 

His  proclamation,  and  the  highest  honor 

HAIJO.     You  have  it  now.     You  gained  it  leav 
ing  her. 

MONASKA.     I  left  her  for  a  moment  only. 
HAIJO.  So! 

Great  fires  are  kindled  in  a  moment  only. 

Where  hearts  are  tinder,  and  a  glance  a  spark, 

[Why,  there 

MONASKA.       Aha,  those  dusky  robes  of  priests 

Astride  the  broken  beam  of  every  ray 

That  bridged  my   prison's  gloom  have  not 
been  ghosts 

To  haunt  my  love  alone?     They  have  been 
fiends 

To  turn  it  to  a  curse. 

HAIJO.  Blame  your  own  choice.] 

MONASKA.     But  how  could  I  have  known  the 

choice  meant  this? 

HAIJO.     Who  knows  the  fruitage  of  the  seed  he 
plants? — 

Like  seed,  like  fruit. 

6 


82  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

MONASKA.  The  seed  was  very  small. 

HAIJO.     The   fruitage   large? — Yet   both   were 

one  in  kind. 
MONASKA.     Nay,  tho'  my  transient  look  went 

wrong,  my  feet 
Have  followed  righteousness.     Ah,  sire,  you 

know 

Some  think  the  only  harvests  heaven  can  find 
Unfold  from  germs  dropped  near  enough  to  hell 
To  fear  its  heat  and  grow  away  from  it. — 
Why  was  it  wrong  to  seek  the  highest  honor? 
How  could  one  know  it  could  not  come  with 

her? 

HAIJO.     You  think  that  one  small  man's  experi 
ence 

Embraces  in  its  clasp  the  whole  broad  earth? — 
Nay,  it  is  finite.     Every  path  has  limits. 
Climb  up  to  mountain- tops,  you  turn  away 
From  flower  and  verdure,  spring  and  warmth, 

to  dwell 

With  rock  and  weariness  and  thirst  and  chill. 
MONASKA.     Oh,   this  is  preaching!     And   you 
promised  me 

A  brilliant  life 

HAIJO.  Life  brilliant  far  beyond 

Your  highest  hope. 

MONASKA.  Nay,  nay,  you  promised  love. 

HAIJO.     The  choicest  maidens  of  the  realm  are 
yours. 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  83 

MONASKA.     But  not  Waloon! 

HAIJO.  Is    his    experience    then 

So  strangely  brilliant  who  is  loved,  forsooth, 
By  one  maid  only? 

MONASKA.  It  may  not  be  brilliant, 

But  like  a  star  in  heaven  it  fills  with  light 
One  point — that  where  the  gods  have  placed  it. 

HAIJO.  You — 

May  be  a  sun  round  which  mere  stars  revolve. 
Your  dignity  has  larger,  broader  range 
Than  gains  fit  homage  from  the  love  of  one ; — 
Which,  if  you  have  not  learned,  you  should  be 
taught. 

MONASKA.     And  yield  Waloon? 

HAIJO.  Waloon — till  you  can  yield 

Your  love  to  others. 

MONASKA.  What?     When  I  have  let 

Their  lustful  kisses  drain  the  dew  of  youth, 
Give  her  the  parched  and  lifeless  remnant? — 

No. 
Go  take    that   wolf-skin  from    the    snarling 

hounds 

When  all  the  blood  has  been  sucked  out  of  it, 
And  flesh  gnawed  off,  and  fling  it,  cold  and 

limp, 

Out  to  another  wolf  panting  for  a  mate ; 
But  ask  me  not  to  fling  love's  foul  cold  carcass 
Out  to  her  arms  to  whom  I  owe  my  life. — 
Oh,  cursed  fate! 


84  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

Exit — Left — HAIJO     shrugging     his     shoulders. 
Enter — Right — WAPELLA  with  a  WOMAN. 

Wapella,    you   here?     Oh 
Wapella,  you  were  right! — And  who  is  this? 

(gazing  at  the  WOMAN.) 
WAPELLA.     My  wife. 
MONASKA.     Your  wife? — Beware — you  cannot 

keep  her. 
WAPELLA.     Oh,  no  one  cares  what  I  do  here! 

Not  I, 

Not  I,  but  you  have  won  the  highest  honor. 
MONASKA.     Yes— won   the   highest   honor.     I, 

forsooth, 

I  have,  Wapella.     Ah,  why  are  the  scales 
That  measure  what  our  world  is  worth  so  poised 
Betwixt  the  outward  and  the  inward  life 
That  what  lifts  up  the  one  must  lower  the 

other? 

Why,  when  we  reach  the  highest  earthly  place 
Must  this  be  balanced  by  the  spirit's  fall? 
Enter — Right — other  MAIDENS    and    WALOON, 

who  is  back  of  them. 

(MONASKA   continues — pointing   to     WALOON.) 
Wapella,  there  is  heaven;  and  all  the  world, 
A  world  that  will  the  more  pollute  my  soul, 
The  more  I  try  to  cross  it,  lies  between 
Myself  and  it,  and  keeps  me  here  in  hell. 

CURTAIN. 


ACT  FOURTH. 

SCENE  FIRST: — Interior  of  a  hut  or  tent  hung  with 
curtains,  evidently  used  as  a  prison  for  Mo 
NASKA.  Entrance  at  the  Left.  The  Curtain 
rising  discloses  MONASKA  dressed  in  gorgeous 
apparel.  He  has  on  a  garlanded  head-dress 
and  in  his  hand  a  large  lyre-like  musical 
instrument.  KOOTHA,  who  apparently  has  just 
finished  robing  him,  stands  regarding  him. 
[KOOTHA.  You  seem  a  rising  sun.  Each  time 

the  crowd 

Renew  their  gaze  on  you,  your  splendor  grows. 
MONASKA.     And  when,  at  last,  they  tone  me  to 

a  pitch 

That  no  new  height  of  splendor  can  transcend, 
To  get  more  halo,  will  they  burn  me  up? 
KOOTHA.     Oh,  no,  not  that! 
MONASKA.  How  long  now  will  it  be 

Before  this  play  will  climax?] 
KOOTHA  (looking  toward  the  Left). 

Some  one  comes. 
Enter — Left — HAIJO. 
HAIJO  (to  MONASKA). 
Good  day. 

85 


86  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

(HAIJO  motions  to  KOOTHA  to  retire.} 

Exit — Left — KOOTHA. 

MONASKA.         I  have  my  doubts  if  it  be  good. 
Each  time  you  come  to  me  and  call  it  so, 
Your  coming  makes  me  more  your  prisoner. 
HAIJO.     Of  course,  if  you  will  yield  not  to  our 

ways 

MONASKA.     If  I  gulp  not  the  feast  you  gorge  me 

on, 

And  bury  all  my  soul  beneath  the  spoils 
Of  foul  and  glutton  appetite — why  then 
I  will  not  prove  the  bloated  beast  you  wish. 
HAIJO.     We  hope  that  you  will  prove  a  god. 
MONASKA.  What  forms 

Your  test  of  godhood? 

HAIJO.  What  is  it  shall  bring 

The  spirit  of  the  fair-god  back  to  earth, 
When   once    again   his  white-winged  vessels 

leave 

Their  land  of  ease,  and  brave  the  sea  for  us? 
MONASKA.     I  know  not — What? 
HAIJO.  Self -sacrifice. 

MONASKA.  Yes,  yes, 

I  see — perhaps   I   wronged   you.     You  may 

light 

These  fires  of  fierce  temptation  round  me  but 
To  test  my  metal. — Have  I  triumphed  then? 
HAIJO.     Triumphed?     O'er  what? — I  spoke  of 
sacrifice. 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  87 

MONASKA.     And  I  have  sacrificed  low  love  for 
higher. 

HAIJO.     You  call  that  sacrifice? 

MONASKA.  What?     Is  it  not? — 

To  give  up  what  is  earthly  for  the  heavenly? — 
Turn  from  the  serpent  coiled  within  the  loins 
To  follow  in  the  flight  of  that  fair  dove 
Whose  wings  are  fluttering  within  the  heart? 

HAIJO.     To  turn  from  those  you  loathe  to  those 

you  like  ? — 
I  did  not  speak  of  that. 

MONASKA.  Ah,  not  of  that? 

Of  what? 

HAIJO.  Self-sacrifice. 

MONASKA.  That  sacrifice 

Is  due  to  self. 

HAIJO.  And  if  it  be? 

MONASKA.  Why,  sire, 

You  think  to  force  my  fate;  and  if  you  do, 
There  may  be  sacrifice,  but  not  by  self. 

HAIJO.     That  does  not  matter. 

MONASKA.  Does  not? — in  a  spirit' — 

You  would  make  godlike? 

HAIJO.  Should  it?     Why? 

MONASKA.  Because, 

Each  time  you  try  to  mould  a  spirit's  life 
With  fingers  grappling  from  the  fist  of  force, 
You  clutch  but  at  the  air,  at  what  is  far 
Too  fine  for  force  to  handle. 


88  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

[HAijo.  May  be,  too, 

That  what  you  speak  of,  is  too  fine  for  some 
To  care  to  handle. 
MONASKA.  Care  not  for  the  spirit? — 

What  are  your  gods? 

HAIJO.  The  sovereigns  of  our  temple. 

MONASKA.     The  outward  temple  only,  not  the 

inward? 
HAIJO.     You  deem  the  sovereigns  of  the  two 

may  differ? 
MONASKA.     I  do.     I  know  of  priests  who  judge 

of  gods 

Like  altars  by  their  gilding,  to  whose  greed 
One  god  in  hand  is  worth  a  score  in  heaven. 
For   every   time   they  kneel  to  touch   their 

puppet, 

It  shakes  to  sprinkle  gold-dust  on  them. 
HAIJO.  Hold! 

Where  were  you  reared  to  such  impiety? 
MONASKA.     Where    sun,    moon,    stars    rained 

from  the  blue  above 
And   flowers   were   fountained   through    the 

green  below, 
Where  lights  we  knew  not  what,  but  they  were 

heaven's, 
Looked  down  on  eyes  that  looked  up  from  the 

earth, 

And  men,  whatever  might  impel  their  souls, 
Were  guided  onward  by  a  goal  to  mate  it. 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  89 

HAIJO.     Ay,   and   by   priests   and   prophets. — 

Tell  the  truth. 
MONASKA.     Yes,  there  were  those  who  dreamed, 

and  those  who  deemed 
In  darkness  they  saw  forms  that  had  been 

earth's, 
And  heard  their  words,  and  they  believed  it 

true 

That  there  was  life  behind  the  sights  we  see. 
But  those  who  stood  the  highest  of  the  high, 
And  knew  our  poet-king,  were  taught  to  look 
Upon  a  God  beyond  the  reach  of  men. 
HAIJO.     Beyond    their    reach,    what    were    he 

worth !     Young  man , 
You  have  your  priests,  your  temples,  ay,  we 

know  it, 

And  have  but  one  religion. 
MOXASKA.  And  we  speak 

One  language  too,  but  differ  in  the  accent. 
The  language  gives  the  passwords  of  the  race, 
The  accent  keys  the  culture  of  the  home, 
And  some  were  welcome  at  the  royal  home. 
HAIJO.     And  there  were  taught  religion? 
MONASKA.  There  we    heard 

The  poems  of  our  prince ;  and  prized  them  not 
Because  his  tongue  controlled  us,  but  his  truth. 
HAIJO  (contemptuously). 

Religion  of  a  poet ! — upside  down 

And  inside  out,  to  fit  each  freak  of  fancy ! 


90  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

MONASKA.     Religion  of  a  man,  sire.     You  would 

say 
One    cannot    see    the    spirit     save    through 

forms. 
Yet  who  can  see  through  forms,  except  as 

these 

Obscure  the  spirit?     Be  it  so,  why,  then 
Our  king  was  right  to  bid  us  use  our  eyes, 
Yet  not  believe  that  what  we  saw  was  all. 
And  what  we  cannot  see,  yet  feel  exists, 
We  cannot  think  of,  save  as  we  imagine. 
And  so  the  phase  that  best  reports  the  spirit 
Is  that  of  poetry, — so  said  our  king. 
HAI jo  (sarcastically) . 

His  was  a  vague  religion! 
MONASKA.  Not  so  vague 

As  that  religion  is  whose  forms  befriend 
A  life  to  which  all  laws  within  the  soul 
Are  foes.     Our  king  with  his  one  queen  would 

never 

Have  sanctioned,  much  less  led  himself,  a  life 
Like  that.     Oh,   something   surely  must   be 

wrong 

When   that   which   rules   without   rules   not 
within.] 

HAI  jo.     And  you  will  not  be  ruled 

MONASKA.  By  what  you  urge? — 

I  cannot. 
HAIJO.         Yet  they  chose  you  as  their  god. 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  9* 

MONASKA.  Then  it  befits  me  like  a  god  to  live. 
Oh,  sire !  those  are  most  worth  our  help  on  earth 
Whose  eyes  look  up,  and  he  who  stands  above 

them, 

Would  he  fulfill  their  soul's  ideal,  must  show 
A  life  worth  while  their  looking  up  to  see. 
HAIJO.     Well,  then,  prepare  to  die. 
MONASKA.  To  die? 

HAIJO.  To-day. 

MONASKA.     Ye  gods!     I  had  not  thought   of 

that — so  soon? 
So  soon? — why,  you  had  promised  I  should 

have 
My  fill  of  love ! 

(HAIJO  stands  sneering  at  him.} 

What  fool  is  more  a  fool — 
What  foe  is  falser — than  one  false  to  self? — 
And  false,  forsooth,  because  of  flattery — 
Nor  of  the  soul —  but  of  this  outward  frame, 
Frame  destined  for  a  shattered  wTeck  to-day. 
No,  no! — not  that — it  cannot  be!     No,  no; 
It  is  against  all  nature  I  should  die. 
What  have  I  lived  for,  if  I  am  to  die? 
Exit — Left — HAIJO,    beckoning,    as   he   goes   out 
to  some  one  beyond  the  entrance. 

Enter — Left — KOOTHA. 
(MONASKA  continues  to  KOOTHA.) 
You  come  to  deck  me  for  my  death?     Faint 
heart ! 


92  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

(putting  his  hand  upon  his  heart.} 
And  it  had  so  much  life !     I  thought  its  thrills 
The  rilling  of  a  fount  whose  brook  should  flow 
Out  to  a  sea  of  life,  as  wide  as  earth, 
And  upward  to  a  golden  clouded  heaven. 
Why,    all   my   moods — they   banner   spring 
time  yet, 

The  buds  but  just  unfolding,  scarce  a  flutter 
To  balm  the  breeze  with  their  sweet  promises ! 
Must  all  be  now  cut  off? — uprooted? — what? 
The  prickliest  cactus  clutches,  at  the  last, 
The  flower  toward  which  it  grows;  and  shall 

these  nerves, 

All  tender  to  the  touch  of  life,  so  live 
Themselves,  so  hungry  to  be  fed,  yet  void 
Of  all  with  which  hope  pledged  them  to  be 

filled— 

Shall  they  be  cheated  out  of  this  they  craved? 
Are  all  the  visions  of  the  fancy  frauds 
That  fool  our  faith,  anticipating  joy 
That  never  comes?     Is  that  mysterious  power 
That  prompts  our  lives  to  be,  and  pushes  on 
Toward  what  it  promised  them,  so  vilely  weak 
That,  like  a  knave  who  fears  to  be  outwitted, 
It  needs  must  lash  and  lure  us  with  a  lie? — 
Yet  now — O  heaven!     I  will  not  so  believe  it. 

I  cannot ;  no,  I  cannot ! 

KOOTHA.  What  is  this 

You  will  not  do,  and  cannot? 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  93 

MONASKA.  You  saw  that  priest 

That  just  now  left  me? 

KOOTHA.  Haijo? — Yes,  I  saw  him. 

MONASKA.     He  says  I  am  to  die. 
KOOTHA.  Most   people  die. 

MONASKA.     He  says,  to-day. 
KOOTHA.  Bad  jobs  are  near  their  best 

When  nearest  ended. 

MONASKA  (in  surprise).      You? — indifferent? 
KOOTHA.     Same  thing — am  old. 
MONASKA.  And  so  are  hard? 

[KOOTHA.  No,  soft; 

Have  learned  to  yield  to  what  could  not  be 
blocked 

By  my  opposing  it.     I  know  no  rose 

That  blooms  but  fades. 

MONASKA.  Yet  men 

KOOTHA.  Oh,  yes,  yes,  men 

Are  different,  I  know.     I  know,  for  men 

Not  only  fade  but  worse — 
MONASKA  (distressed) .     Why  picture  it ? 
KOOTHA  (intentionally  harsh}. 

I  own  no  pigment  dull  enough. — You  know 

What  human  life  is? — all  a  fight  of  soul 

To  keep  the  body  sweet, — a  fight  a  bird 

Or  beast  knows  nothing  of.     A  babe  when 
born 

Is  dipped  in  water;  every  following  day 

Is  dipped  again.     If  not,  ere  long  will  come 


94  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

Disease  and  death,  and,  when  a  mortal  dies, 
His  fellows  all  thank  heaven  that  they  have 

hands 

To  keep  the  fight  up  for  him;  for,  if  not, 
Be  he  not  burned  or  buried  in  a  jiffy, 
The  air  of  heaven  may  find  the  spirit  sweet, 
But  not  the  air  of  earth — pugh! — well  he  left 

it! 

MONASKA.     You  judge  of  men  by  their  outsides. 
KOOTHA.  Oh,   no! 

Some  of  our  people  here  so  love  a  man 
They    feast    upon   him.     Who,    pray,    could 

know  more 
Of    his    insides?     They    say — their    sense    is 

trained — 

That  nothing  has  a  taste  as  much  like  man 
As  has — what  would  you  guess? — a  hog.] 
MONASKA.  You  think 

By  drugging  me  with  bitters,  you  can  whet 
An  appetite  for  death?     Man,  I  am  young. 
KOOTHA.     Be  thankful,  then,  that  you  have  not 

grown  old, 

Worn  out,  diseased  and  full  of  pain. 
MONASKA.  To  think 

That    all    this   glowing  blood    within   these 

veins 
Should  be  spilled  out,  before  my  soul  has 

drunk 
The  pleasure  that  is  in  them. 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  95 

KOOTHA.  When  thus  drunk, 

The  veins  will  be  exhausted,  have  no  stock 
To  treat  the  sense  with  longer ;  and  the  soul, 
Intoxicated  with  the  joys  of  earth, 
Will  be  too  heavy  weighed  to  rise  above  them. 

[MONASKA.     But   I 

KOOTHA.  The  worst  of  prisoners  is  a  soul 

Severed  from  its  own  realm  by  appetite 
That  lets  naught  pass  that  pays  no  toll  to 

greed. 

Mere  soulless  brutes  are  better  than  are  men 
With  souls  that  love  but  that  which  they  can 
lust  for.] 

MONASKA.     Nay;  not  of  low  desires  I  spoke.     I 

meant 
That  I  had  never  tasted  love. 

KOOTHA.  Then  you 

Have  never  found  it  bitter. 

MONASKA.  Cynic! 

KOOTHA.  One 

Must  be  what  earth  has  made  him. 

MONASKA.  Let  me  die 

Before  I  learn  a  lesson  sad  as  that! 

KOOTHA.     Wise  prayer!     Ay,  it  is  mercy  lets  us 

die 

Before  our  souls  decay — makes  life  more  sweet 
To  those  who  have  to  live  it  with  us  here. 

MONASKA.     No,  no!     You  do  not  understand — 
Waloon 


96  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

KOOTHA.     I  understand  the  world.     It  frames 

her  soul, 
And  yours,  and  souls  in  this  world  fit  their 

frames. 
MONASKA.     You     deem    my     disposition    too 

despotic 

To  be  appeased  by  service  of  her  love? 
Yet  not  myself  I  think  of,  but  of  her. 
KOOTHA.     Think  of  her  as  she  is  then. 
MONASKA.  How  is  that  ? 

KOOTHA.     A  woman. 

MONASKA.  What,  pray,  is  a  woman? 

KOOTHA.  What 

Is  made  to  woo  a  man. 
MONASKA.  Whatman? 

KOOTHA.  What  man? 

Why,  any  man. 

MONASKA.        You  villain,  to  say  that! 
KOOTHA.     Humph!     I  have  seen  the  world,  and 

tell  you  truth. 

You  deem  the  truth  is  villainy? — it  is — 
The  truth  about  this  world. 
MONASKA.  You  think  Waloon — 

KOOTHA.     Will  mourn  you? — Yes,  a  while;  but 

woes  like  hers 

Are  troubles  which  a  kindly  Providence 
Will  always  raise  up  some  man  who  can  cure. 
MONASKA.     Waloon — I  must  believe  she  knows 
this  now — 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  97 

Has  made  a  solemn  vow,  if  aught  should  come 
To  me,  to  serve  as  priestess  in  the  temple. 
KOOTHA.     Oh  yes;  oh  yes;  with  you  to  be  her 

god. 

MONASKA.     Sad,  lonely  servitude! 
KOOTHA.  Oh,  no. 

MONASKA.  With  none 

To  love? 

KOOTHA.     But  there  are  others  there. 
MONASKA.  What  for? 

KOOTHA.     To  represent  the  god. 

MONASKA.  You  mean 

KOOTHA.  Oh,    no!— 

No,  not  this  week,  nor  month,  not  that,  not 

that. 
But  when  the  time  comes — when  this  lonely 

soul 
Desires  content,  and  cannot  leave  the  place 

Without  dishonoring  herself  and  us 

MONASKA.     Your  evil  mood  is  master  of  your 

thought — — 
KOOTHA.     Say,  makes  my  conscience  conscious 

that  no  law 
Can  legislate  the  devil  out  of  life. 

You  block  a  maiden  of  one  lover 

MONASKA.  Knave! 

KOOTHA.     Nay,   some  would  call  him  both  a 

knave  and  brute — 
Who  failed  to  make  her  seem  less  lonely. 


98  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

MONASKA  (angrily).  The  king 

would  not  permit  this. 

KOOTHA.  No? 

MONASKA.  He  would? 

KOOTHA.  You  see — 

The  king — he  chiefly  represents  the  god. 

MONASKA.     What? — I    have    heard    he    loves 

her. — Can  this  be 

A  plot  of  his  to  get  her,  will  or  nill? 
You  mean  to  say 

KOOTHA.  I  do  not  need  to  say  it; 

I  think  a  man  might,  if  he  had  some  sense, 
Put  two  and  two  together. — Times  will  come 
When  they  two  will  be  two  together.  Humph ! 
One  ought  to  guess  the  rest. 

MONASKA.  And  ought  to  swear 

To  level  every  wall  that  can  shut  out 
The  sun  that  brings  to  light  man's  every  act — 
The  only  weapon  that  can  ward  off  ill 
From     souls     allured      to     wrong    through 

secrecy. — 

And  you — what  cause  had  you  to  hint  this 
tome? 

KOOTHA.  You  thought  Waloon  would  suffer 

MONASKA.  So  she  will. 

A  thousand  deaths  were  better  for  her. 

KOOTHA.  Whose? — 

(insinuatingly.) 
You  mean  the  king's? 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  99 

MONASKA  (suddenly  changing  his  manner}. 

Are  you  a  native  here? 

KOOTHA.      Not  I. 

MONASKA.  Of  what  tribe  then? 

KOOTHA.  Sh — sh — of  yours. 

MONASKA.     Mine?  mine? 

KOOTHA.  I   said  it — captured  years  ago. 

[MONASKA.     And  here? 
KOOTHA.  Dishonored. 

MONASKA.  Why,  you  seem  a  priest? 

KOOTHA.     I  am  what  priests  would  be,  did  they 
believe 

In  being  what  they  seem. 
MONASKA.  How  so? 

KOOTHA.  A  man 

Yet  not  a  man.] 

MONASKA.  You  wish  me? 

KOOTHA.  Yes,  of  all 

The  captives  taken  by  us,  you  alone, 

When  tempted,  have  not  let  them  drain  your 
veins 

Of  healthful  soul-strength,  to  inject  therein, 

In  place  of  it,  their  foul  sense-fevering  virus. 
MONASKA.     And  you  would  save  me? 
KOOTHA.  Do  you  think  a  man 

Can  save  a  god? — It  is  the  god  saves  men. 

You  see  this  point  here? 

(pointing  to  a  sharp  protuberance  on  one 
end  of  the  musical  instrument  carried 


100  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

by   MONASKA.     MONASKA   examines 
it.)  I  have  known  a  man 

Who  had  no  weapon 

MONASKA.  Yes,  I  see  the  point! 

KOOTHA.     A  time  will  come  when  you  stand 

near  the  king. 

If  then  you  choose  to  give  a  benediction, 
The  people's  eyes  will  all  be  looking  downward ; 
And  if  there  be  confusion,  and  some  gate 
About  the  pyramid  be  open,  then 
Quick  feet  might  pass  it,  and  quick  eyes  might 

see 
A  friend  of  mine  who  might  be  sent  to  guide 

them. 
MONASKA.     When  is  it  that  I  stand  so  near  the 

king? 
KOOTHA.     Just  when  he  bids  you  give  this  lyre 

to  him. 
MONASKA.     And  I  will  give  it! — What  comes 

just  before? 

KOOTHA.     Our  adoration. 
MONASKA.  What  just  after? 

KOOTHA.  You 

Begin  to  mount  the  pyramid; — meanwhile, 
Keep  dropping  off  you,  one    by    one,    your 

robes. 

The  king  takes  first  this  lyre,  and  Haijo  next 
Your  head-dress;  then,  the  other  priests  the 
rest. 


THE  AZTEC  GOO. 


MONASKA.     Till  everything  be  taken  from 
KOOTHA.  Yes. 

MONASKA.     Before  the  people? — an  indignity! 
KOOTHA  (sarcastically) . 

They   will  have   done   your  spirit   so  much 
honor, 

It  will  be  too  much  honored  for  this  bod}'. 
MONASKA.     You  mean  the   body  will  be  too 
dishonored 

For  any  spirit  to  remain  in  it. 
KOOTHA.     Oh,  not  dishonored  ere  the  godship 
leaves. — 

Then  what  does  flesh  devoid  of  god  deserve? 
MONASKA.     Damnation,   if   devoid  of  godship 
mean 

Devoid  of  spirit  to  defend  the  flesh. — 

And  so  they  kill  me? 

KOOTHA.  In  the  end  they  do. 

MONASKA.     They  mutilate  me  first? 
KOOTHA.  That  lasts  not  long. — 

You  are  to  see  Waloon  now. 
MONASKA.  See  Waloon? 

How  cruel  both  to  her  and  me ! 
KOOTHA.  Oh,  then, 

If  you  wish  not 

MONASKA.  Nay,  but  I  do — and  you — 

You   are   to   watch   us,    as   has   been    your 

wont? 
KOOTHA.     Why — 


1&2  'THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

MONASKA.'  •  It*  will  be  my  final  word  with  her. — • 
Were  you  to  be  a  god,  what  would  you  give 
To  speak  that  word  and  not  be  overheard? 

KOOTHA.     Eternal  benediction. 

MONASKA.  So  will  I. 

Or  god  or  spirit,  here  I  pledge  you  it. 

KOOTHA.     I  shall  not  overhear. 

MONASKA.  One  hope  is  left. 

I  have  the  lyre — 
(making  motion  of  using  lyre  as  a  weapon.} 

can  give  it  to  the  king. 

[Though  I  may  die,  I  need  not  leave  Waloon 
To  her  worst  enemy, — that  spider-soul 
Bating  his  web  of  lust  with  my  pure  love, 
And,  for  his  foul  embrace,  entrapping  thus 
The  vainly  fluttering  wings  of  her  fair  spirit 

(looking  toward  the  Left-} 

But  ah, — she  comes.     I  must  not  think  of  self, 
But  of  this  better  self.     If  any  soul 
Had  ever  need  yet  to  believe  in  God 
Through  a  belief  in  man,  that  soul  is  hers.] 
Exit— Left— KOOTHA. 
Enter — Left — WALOON. 

WALOON.     Monaska. 

MONASKA.  Here  I  am,  Waloon. 

WALOON.  You  know 

The  truth? 

MONASKA.     I  do.     Oh,  love,  but  it  is  hard. 
[You  knew  it  all  these  days  ? 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  103 

WALOON.  I  feared — 

MONASKA.  It  was 

For  this  I  deemed  you  jealous  of  me? 
WALOON.  Yes. 

MONASKA.     A  fool  that  I  have  been!     But  who 
could  think 

Humanity  could  be  so  base? 
WALOON.  Be  what? 

MONASKA.     They  are  to  kill  me;  and  you  had 
not  heard?] 

Or  do  you  think  it  right  that  I  should  die  ? 

WALOON  (in  surprise  and  reproach] . 

Monaska ! 
MONASKA.     Have  I  no  friends  left?  not  one? — 

Not  even  you? — you  wish  to  kill  me  too? 

WALOON.     No,  no,  not  that 

MONASKA.  I,  all  my  life,  Waloon, 

Have  served  a  spirit  larger  than  myself. 

These  limbs  but  fit  it  on  a  single  side, 

Their  utmost  only  half  what  it  would  have. 

And  now,  athrill  with  spirit-arms  that  stretch 

Up  towrard  the  heaven  and  onward  toward 
heaven's  love, 

My  balanced  being  had  embraced  in  you 

That  other  side.     We  are  not  two,  but  one. 

And — think — to  part  two  factors  of  one  life 

Is  murder — not  of  body  but  of  spirit. 
WALOON.      Monaska — what  ? — Monaska,      are 
you  mad  ? 


104  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

MONASKA.     Not  yet,  not  quite. 

WALOON.  But  think — you  are  the  god. 

[MONASKA.     Do  you  believe  this  ? 

WALOON.  I?— why  should  I  not? 

MONASKA.     Have    always    heard  it,   eh? — and 

most  of  us 

Commune   with   reason   through   our    mem 
ory; 
And   not   the   work   of   our   own   minds  we 

heed, 

But  rote-repeated  phrases  framed  by  others. — ] 
Do  you  believe  me  then  to  be  a  god? 
WALOON.     You  must  be. 
MONASKA.     Your     god,     yours,     Waloon? 
WALOON.  My  god. 

MONASKA.     To  hear  you  say  so,  I  could  think  it 

too. 
Thank  heaven,  thank  heaven!     But  if  I  leave 

you  here, — 
WTALOON.     I  still  will  love  you — serve  you  in  the 

temple. 

MONASKA.     Nay — say  not  that! 
WTALOON.  I  must  though — if  I  love  you. 

MONASKA.     You  must? — and  why? 
WALOON.  Because  their  souls  are  cursed 

Who  loved  the  god,   and  serve  not  in  the 

temple. 

MONASKA.     Is  that  what  they  have  taught  you? 
WALOON.  Yes. 


THE  ALTEC  GOD.  105 

MONASKA.  A   part 

Of  that  instruction  which  they  call  divine  ? 
(WALOON  drops  eyes  and  head  in  assent.} 

I  thought  so ! — and  they  say  they  make  me  god. 

No,  no;  they  make  me  devil! — Would  they 
could ! 

What  happy  hours  in  hell  would  heat  the  hate 

My  heart  could  hurl  at  what  they  call  divine ! 
WALOON.     What  said  you? 
MONASKA.     Said  I?  said  I? — It  was  naught 

[But  practicing  to  be  a  god.     You  know 

A  coming  glory  casts  a  glow  before  it. 

Those   who   shall   be   the   lords   of  fowldom 
gobble 

A  gobble  at  times  before  their  gills  are  grown.] 
WALOON.     You  seemed  in  anger. 
MONASKA.  So  are  gods  at  times. — 

They  think  of  men. 
WALOON.  Of  women  too? 

MONASKA  (changing  his  tone}.     Oh  yes; 

Of  women : — they  are  said  to  be  in  bliss. 

Waloon,  you  love  me? 
WALOON.  Yes. 

MONASKA.  Will  always  love  me? 

WALOON.     I  will. 
MONASKA.  Then  if  a  devil  come  to  you, 

In  human  shape,  and  say  he  represents  me, 

Swear  you  will  not  believe  him — though  the 
king! 


106  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

WALOON  (startled) . 

What  can  you  mean? 
MONASKA.  You  do  it,  I  will  damn  you — 

Not  only  I — but  all  the  gods  there  with  me. 
(WALOON  draws  back  in  fear.     MONASKA'S  tone 

changes.) 

Waloon,  are  you  afraid  of  me,  Waloon? 
WALOON  (hesitatingly). 

Why — no — 

MONASKA.  I  have  a  last  request  to  make. 

I  have  to  die  in  public, — is  that  so? 

(WALOON  bows  in  affirmation.) 
They  strip  and  mutilate  me  first  ? 
WALOON.  You  mean 

When — when  they  tear  your  heart  out? 
MONASKA  (in  horror).       Tear? — what,  what? — 
While  I  am  living,  feeling,  tear  my  heart  out? 
WTALOON.     Oh,  do  not  speak  of  it!     It — let  me 

rest. 

(almost  swooning,  and  seating  herself.) 
MONASKA.     You  faint! — Oh,  horror! — and  for 

me,  Waloon? 

(bending  over  her,  and  talking  huskily  and  rapidly.) 
We  have  but  one  brief  moment  more  together. 

(trying  to   rouse  her,   and  succeeding.) 
Wake! — there  is  one  thing  you  must  promise 

me. 

When  I  am  gone — their  ghastly  deed  been 
done — 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  IO7 

I  wish  you  to  recall  me  as  I  am, — 
One  fit  for  all  things  almost,  save  to  die, 
Each  factor,  organ,  limb  of  me  complete, 
And,  at  this  moment,  hot  against  the  fire 
Blazed  through  me  by  your  love-enkindled 

eyes, 

No  sinew  but  is  trembling  with  the  draft 
Of  that  delicious  flame;  and  yet  none  too 
Not  strengthened  by  a  power  divine  like  that 
Propelling  all  creation, — I  am  god, 
Not  man.     Nay,  nay!     R.emember  me  as  god. 
You   must   not   see   that   unveiled,   writhing 

frame, 
Weak,  color-void,  save  where  the  death-blood 

dyes  it. 
Waloon,    you    must    not    be    there.     I    shall 

writhe 

More  like  a  god  to  know  you  are  not  there. — 
But  go  you  where  we  met  first — in  the  woods — 
You  know  the  place — to  me  the  holiest  place 
My  life  has  ever  known!  Waloon,  go  there. 
Oh,  swear  to  me  you  will. — My  soul  will 

swear 
To  meet  you. 

WALOOX.        What  ? 

MOXASKA.  By  all  that  makes  me  god, 

In  form,  perchance,  in  spirit  certainly. — 
[Will  you,  Waloon5 

WALOON.  I 


108  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

MONASKA.  Swear  it.     So  your  soul, 

As  I  depart  this  life,  may  draw  mine  own 
Off  in  the  current  of  that  sympathy 
Forever  sweeping  from  my  life  to  yours; 
Away   from   ways   where   human   wills   out 
wit 
The  wisdom  that   has  made   earth  what  it 

is, 

To  where,  in  that  true  temple  of  the  spirit, 
The  winds  are  whispering  what  men  know  not 

of, 
And  flower  and  leaf  are  trembling  like  the 

heart 

That  feels  the  presence  of  the  power  divine. — ] 
There  go  I,  darling — you? 
WALOON.  I  too. 

MONASKA.  Thank   heaven ! 

Enter — Left — KOOTHA,  and  his  COMPANION. 
KOOTHA.     Your  time  is  up. 
MONASKA.  Farewell,  Waloon. 

WALOON.  Farewell. 

Oh,  bitter,  bitter,  bitter  word  farewell, 
So  bitter  when  the  lips  belie  the  heart 
That  knows  too  well  that  life  will  not  fare 

well. 

Enter — Left — HAIJO  with  two  ATTENDANTS. 
MONASKA  (to  WALOON). 

Things    may   turn    brighter   than   you    fear, 
Waloon. 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  IOQ 

WALOOX.     Could  they  be  darker?     Oh,  my  god, 

my  god! 

(She  bows  before  MONASKA,  clinging  to  his  hand.) 
KOOTHA  (to  HAIJO  as  he  gestures  toward  WALOOX). 

Note  how  complete  is  her  devotion,  sire. 
HAIJO  (to  KOOTHA,  but  at  the  same  time  motioning 

fo  WALOON). 

Remove  her. 

(pointing    to    MONASKA    and    speaking    to    the 

ATTENDANTS.) 

Lead  him  forth. 

MONASKA  (to  WALOOX).     Farewell. 
WALOON  (to  MONASKA)  .  Farewell. 

MONASKA.     Do  not  forget — we  meet  where  only 

gods  are. 

WALOON.     Yes — there. 
MONASKA.  Have  faith  and  hasten. 

WALOON.  Yes,  farewell. 

Exit— Left— WALOON. 
KAIJO  (to  MONASKA). 

Now  comes  the  hour  in  which  you  triumph. 
The  people  at  the  temple  wait  for  you 
To  do  you  adoration. 
MONASKA    (lifting  up  his  hands}.     With  their 

hands  ? 

HAIJO  (also  lifting  up  his  hands}. 
To  lift  your  spirit  to  the  skies. 
MONASKA.  You  think 

I  crave  that? 


1 10  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

HAIJO.  Most  men  would. 

MONASKA.  A  wingless  hand 

Lifts  only  to  a  wingless  height.     A  role 
Not  past  the  common  reach  of  common  men 
Cannot  incite  uncommon  aspiration. 
Lead  me  on. 

Exit — Left — MONASKA,  led  by  the  two  ATTEND 
ANTS. 

[HAIJO  (to  KOOTHA). 

How  does  he  seem  to  take  it  ? 

KOOTHA.     Just  like  a  god  when  made  by  man; 

or  if 

You  like  not  that,  a  man  when  made  by  a  god. — 
Is  there  much  difference  between  the  two  ? 

HAIJO.     And  how  Waloon? 

KOOTHA.  She  thinks  as  all  the  world  do; 

So  lives  enough  in  hell  to  please  a  priest. 

HAIJO.     You  villain ! 

KOOTHA.  Yet!  I  always  do  your  bidding. 

HAIJO.     Ungrateful  cur ! 

KOOTHA.  Nay,  do  not  say  ungrateful. — 

Nay;    I    am   thankful    for    what    you    have 
taught  me. 

HAIJO.     My  curses  on  you! — To  the  sacrifice! 
(HAijo  moves  towards  the  Left  Entrance.) 

KOOTHA  (to  his  COMPANION.) 

The  two  things  go  together.     And  how  kind, 
When  one  has  curses  loaded  on  him  so, 
To  let  him  load  them  on  another ! 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  Ill 

HAIJO  (turning  toward  KOOTHA).    What? — 
Away. 

Exit— Left— KOOTHA. 
(to  the  COMPANION).     His  insolence  must  end, 

or  I 

Must  find  a  way  to  put  an  end  to  him.] 
Exit — Left — HAIJO  and  KOOTHA'S  COMPANION. 

CURTAIN. 

SCENE  SECOND  : — Same  as  the  Scene  in  Act  Second. 
Enter — through  the  gateway, — in  a  procession 
marching  to  the  music  of  the  orchestra,  AT 
TENDANTS,  PRIESTS,  PRIESTESSES,  MAIDENS, 
PAGES,  HAIJO,  the  KING,  MONASKA  sitting 
in  his  chariot,  and  apparently  playing  his  lyre, 
and,  near  the  chariot,  KOOTHA  and  his  COMPAN 
ION.  GUARDS  end  the  procession,  and  station 
themselves  near  the  gate.  This  is  not  closed. 
The  ATTENDANTS  and  PRIESTS  station  them 
selves  at  the  Right  facing  the  Left;  the  PRIEST 
ESSES  and  MAIDENS  at  the  Left  facing  the 
Right.  The  PAGES  are  in  Front  of  the  Pyramid. 
MONASKA  descends  from  the  chariot  and  stands 
beside  HAIJO,  facing  the  pyramid.  KOOTHA 
stands  nearer  the  gate.  His  COMPANION 
stealthily  gets  behind  one  of  the  GUARDS,  and 
then  Exits,  at  the  gate.  The  KING  ascends  the 
pyramid  a  few  steps,  and,  standing  in  front  of 


112  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

the  rugs  forming  a  seat  near  the  base  of  the 
pyramid,  faces  the  audience.  The  following 
is  then  chanted: 

Oh,  not  what  life  appears  to  be, 

Is  what  in  life  is  true. 
Inveiled  behind  the  forms  we  see 

Are  things  we  cannot  view. 
What  but  the  spirit  working  through 
The  guise  men  wear  to  what  they  do 
Reveals  the  force  that,  foul  or  fair, 
Awakes  and  makes  the  nature  there. 

The  sunshine  shows  the  worth  of  suns, 

The  moisture,  of  the  shower; 
The  stream,  of  rills  from  which  it  runs, 

The  fragrance,  of  the  flower; 
And,  oh,  the  spirit  when  it  springs 
Above  the  reach  of  earthly  things, 
As  fall  the  limbs  that  feed  the  shrine, 
Reveals  the  life  to  be  divine. 

(HAijo  ascends  the  pyramid  a  few  steps 

and    stands  beside    the  KING  facing 

MONASKA,  who  mounts  a  lower  step 

and  whom  HAIJO'S  hands  can   touch.) 

THE    KING.     Now    once    again,    unveiled    for 

mortal  gaze, 

Immortal  mystery  and  man  have  met. 
The  heavens  bend  low  to  touch  the  earth,  and 

earth 
Is  lifting  up  its  longing  hands  to  heaven. 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  113 

HAIJO  (lifting  both  hands). 

Oh,  ye  that  dwell  less  in  the  earth  and  sky 
Than  in  the  meditations  of  the  mind, 
We  thank  thee  that  the  power  of  old  imposed 
On  ministers  of  earth  can  downward  call 
(HAIJO  here  places  both  palms  on  MONASKA'S  head.) 
Upon  a  form  in  fashion  like  their  own 
The  presence  of  the  gods'  own  power  above, 
Till  in  a  human  form  it  sits  enthroned. 

(As  he  utters  the  last  words,  the  KING  takes 
MONASKA  by  the  hand.  MONASKA 
mounts  the  pyramid  between  the  KING, 
who  is  at  his  right  as  he  turns  to  face 
the  PEOPLE,  and  HAIJO  who  is  at  his 
left.  The  moment  MONASKA  stands 
on  the  step  between  the  KING  and 
HAIJO  both  the  latter  and  all  the 
PEOPLE  kneel,  while  all  chant  the 
following:) 

HAIJO.     All  hail  the  heavenly  sun, 
PEOPLE.  The  heavenly  sun! 

HAIJO.     All  hail  the  glory  won, 
PEOPLE.  The  glory  won ! 

HAIJO  and  PEOPLE. 


All  hail  the  sun  that  brings  the  light, 
All  hail  the  rays  that  shower, 

And  wake  the  barren  wastes  of  night 
To  germ  and  leaf  and  flower. 


114  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

HAIJO.     All  hail  the  heavenly  sun, 

PEOPLE.  The  heavenly  sun! 

HAIJO.     All  hail  the  glory  won, 

PEOPLE  The  glory  won! 

HAIJO  and  PEOPLE. 

All  hail  the  life  behind  the  sun, 

All  hail  the  gods  that  dwell 
Where  men  whose  earthly  race  is  run 

Are  borne,  and  all  is  well. 

HAIJO.     All  hail  the  heavenly  sun, 

PEOPLE.  The  heavenly  sun ! 

HAIJO.     All  hail  the  glory  won, 

PEOPLE.  The  glory  won ! 

HAIJO  and  PEOPLE. 

All  hail  the  form  of  him  who  dies, 

All  hail  the  soul  that  wends 
Up  through  the  skies,  and  onward  hies. 

All  hail  the  gods,  our  friends. 

(The  stage  grows  darker,  indicating  an  approaching 
storm.) 

KING  (rising,  as  do  all  the  PEOPLE). 

Now  comes  the  deed  that  all  the  gods  await, 

The  final  act  of  solemn  joy  that  gives 

The  life  we  prize  to  those  that  reign  on  high. 

But  ere  his  lyre  be  given  to  the  king, 

Let  those  appointed  for  the  sacred  task 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  115 

Be  led  here  to  conduct  their  holy  charge 
On  his  most  holy  way. 

(HAijo  moves,  as  if  to  descend  the  pyramid, 
but  stops,  and  turns  back  upon  hearing 
the  voice  of  MONASKA.) 
MONASKA  (to  the  KING.)     Your  majesty? — 

Sire,  may  I  ask? 

KING.  What  would  you? 

MONASKA.  A  request, 

If  I  may  speak. 

HAIJO  (to  the  KING).     Sire,  he  needs  nothing. 
MONASKA  (to  the  KING).  Slight 

The  last  request  of  him  who  is  your  god? 
KING  (to  MONASKA). 

Say  on. 

MONASKA.    I  merely  thought,  sire,  that  my  spirit, 
To  be  inspired  the  better  toward  the  light, 
Should  gaze  upon  yon  rising  sun;  but  here 
It  cannot, 

(pointing  toward  the  gateway  at  the  Rear.) 
KING.  Not? 

MONASKA  (motioning  toward  the  guards  between 
the  pyramid  and  the  gateway). 

Could  these  but  step  aside ! 

KING  (to  an  OFFICER  at  his  Left). 

Yes,  let  the  guards  there  stand  aside,  nor  hide 
The  sunlight  from  the  sacrifice. 
HAIJO  (to  the  KING,  making  a  gesture  of  dissent). 

But,   sire 


116  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

KING  (hesitating,  and  looking  from  MONASKA  to 
HAIJO,  then  addressing  the  OFFICER  again}. 
You  need  not  give  the  order. 

(to  HAIJO.)     Now  proceed. 
Let  those  appointed  for  the  sacred  task 
Be  led  here  to  conduct  their  holy  charge 
On  his  most  holy  way. 

(HAijo  descends  the  steps  of  the  pyramid. 
Those  about  separate  to  let  him  pass 
them.  Exeunt — through  the  Curtains 
at  the  Left — HAIJO,  followed  by  a  pro 
cession  of  PRIESTS.  A  sudden  peal 
of  thunder  with  lightning.) 

MONASKA  (to  the  KING,  availing  himself  of  the 

general  commotion  at  the  suddenness  of  the 

peal).  You  dare  deny  me? 

The  gods  have  joined  me  in  my  last  request. 

Beware,  lest  by  the  charm  yourselves  invoke 

These   gods,   that   you   but   half  believe   in, 

check, 
In  ways  that  pride  like  yours  deserves,  the 

course 

And  curse  of  most  foul  infidelity. 
KING.     Well,  well,  it  matters  little. 
(to  the  OFFICER,  and  motioning  toward  the  gate 
way.)     Officer, 

Give    orders    that    the    guard    there    stand 
aside. 
(OFFICER  moves  toward  the  gateway  and 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  117 

gestures.     The   GUARD    move   toward 
the  Right.     KOOTHA  lakes  a  station 
between  the  pyramid  and  the  gateway. 
The  KING  continues  to  MONASKA.) 
Now  are  you  ready? 

MONASKA.  If  the  man  be  naught, 

Let  not  the  spirit  that  you  deem  divine 
Depart,  ere  it  invoke  the  powers  above 
To  rest  in  endless  benediction  here. 
KING.     This    proves    how    wisely    you    were 

chosen  god. — (to  the  PEOPLE.) 
He  whom  we  worship  calls  upon  us  now 
To  kneel  and  all  receive  his  benediction. 

(The  PEOPLE  kneel,  and  bend  their  heads. 
MONASKA,  lifting  one  hand,  motions 
to  the  GUARD  near  the  gate  that 
they  too  kneel.  KOOTHA,  by  motions, 
seconds  his  wish,  bidding  them  all 
kneel  down,  which  they  do,  bending 
their  heads  forward,  and  casting 
down  their  eyes.  They  are  in  front 
of  the  gateway,  with  their  backs 
toward  it.} 

MONASKA  (noticing  that  the  KING  is  still  stand 
ing). 

I  would  include  you  too,  .sire. 
KING.  Me? 

MONASKA.  You  too— 

(The  KING  kneels.     While  he  is  doing  so,  Mo- 


II 8  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

NASKA  looks  toward  KOOTHA  and  bows,  then 
speaks  to  the  PEOPLE  in  a  slow,  loud 
manner.) 

This  is — my — benediction — for  the  people. 
(Bright  flash  of  lightning,  followed  by  a  loud 
peal  of  thunder.     MONASKA  hurls  the 
lyre  down  upon  the  head  of  the  KING, 
then  flies   past   KOOTHA   behind   the 
SOLDIERS,   and  through  the  gateway 
backing  at  the  Right.) 
KING.     Help,  help ! 

KOOTHA  (running  toward  the  KING  and  motioning 
the  GUARDS  to  do  the  same). 

What  is  it? 

KING  (to  an  OFFICER,  who  is  bending  over  him). 

He  has  murdered  me, 
KOOTHA.     Oh,  murder,  murder! 
(to  the  GUARDS.) 

Shut  the  gates.     Let  none 
Escape. 
(GUARDS  hasten  and  close  the  gates  backing  at 

the  Right.) 

OFFICER.     Where  is  he? — Stop  him. 
KOOTHA  (standing  on  a  step  of  the  pyramid  at  the 
Back  and  looking  toward  the  Right). 

Ah!   too   late! 

CURTAIN. 


ACT  FIFTH. 

SCENE: — Same  as  in  Act  First.     The  darkness 

of  an  approaching  storm. 

Enter — Right — WALOON  attended  by  her  MAID. 
WALOON  (to  the  MAID). 

[Yes,  yes,  it  is  the  place;  no  doubt  of  that; 
Yet,  in  the  dark,  is  all  so  vague  and  wild. 
How  the  whole  air  is  weighted  with  the  gloom ! 
Even  to  draw  it  in,  my  lungs,  o'ertaxed, 
Would  rather  choose  not  breathe  than  bear 

the  burden. 

These  clouds  are  curtained  like  a  funeral  pall, 
Fit  funeral  pall,  round  my  dear  dying  hope. — 
My  dying  hope? — Oh,  selfish,  cruel  soul, 
To  think  of  it  when,  even  now,  perchance, 
That  dear,  dear  heart,  so  eager-sped  by  love, 
Whose  each  pulsation,  like  a  paddle's  beat 
Seemed   furthering    some    canoe's    o'erladen 

prow 

W^here  it  should  rest  and  empty  at  my  feet ; 
That  dear,  dear  heart,  so  pliant  to  my  wish 
That,  at  my  lightest  breath,  the  brightening 
smiles 

119 


120  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

Would  open  round  his  lips  in  hues  as  fair 
As  rosebuds  parted  by  the  breeze  of  May; 
That  dear,  dear  heart,  the  germ  of  all  he  was — 
The  sweetest  outgrowth  of  the  sweetest  life 
This  earth  has  ever  molded  into  form; — 
To  think  that  even  now  a  heart  like  that, 
Its  nerve-roots  quivering  in  their  agony, 
Is  being  torn  out  from  the  bleeding  breast 
As  if  some  foulest  weed  that  could  pollute 
A  soil  that,  just  to  hold  it — that  alone — 
Is    more    than   sacred.      Oh,    how   can    the 

heavens 

Be  so  unjust?     Far  better  not  to  think 
Than    think    but    of   that    fearful,    bleeding 

vision. 
Would,  would  that  I  could  veil  it  out — but  no !] 

(Thunder.) 

The  voice  of  thunder  ? — Can  it  be  that  he 
Would  speak  to  me  through  that? — No,  not 

through  that, 
Not  he! — He  loves  me. — Yet  he  may  have 

changed. 

[Some  tell  us  that  the  fairest  forms  on  earth, 
Most  full  of  mirth  and  softness  and  caress, 
Whose  mildness  tames  life's  wild,  coquettish 

blood, 

Leave  in  the  tomb  their  loveliness  and  charm, 
And  go  thence,  fiends. — And  he? — no,  no,  not 

so!—] 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  121 

I  almost  had  forgot  he  is  a  god. 

Though  what  would  gods  be  for,  if  man  were 

good? 

And  if  he  be  not  good,  what  are  they  for, 
Except  to  punish  him? — and  am  I  doom'd? — 
Why  not  ? — Is  not  my  spirit  in  rebellion  ? 
Perhaps  it  was  the  man  in  him,  not  god, 
The  man   they   rightly   killed,   that   tempted 

me 

To  leave  the  temple  and  to  wander  here. 
And  now  the  god,  then  prisoned  in  the  man, 
May  wreak  his  vengeance  on  me. 

( Thunder.}     Hark — again ! — 
And  rain  too !     I  must  find  a  shelter.      What  ? — 

(looking  toward  the  Left.) 

Can  they  be  warriors? — Can  we  be  pursued? 
Exit — Right — WALOON  and  the  MAID. 
Enter— Left— Two  WARRIORS. 

(Thunder  and  lightning.) 
FIRST  WARRIOR  (looking  toward  the  Right). 

A  woman,  I  am  sure. 
SECOND  WARRIOR.  If  so,  not  he. 

No  noise! — Were  he  to  think  himself  pursued 
He  might  escape  us. 

FIRST  WARRIOR.  That  could  never  be. 

The  woods  are  wholly  circled  by  us  now; 
And  him  we  know  to  be  inside. 

(moving    toward    the    Right    Rear.) 
(Thunder  and  lightning.) 


122  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

SECOND  WARRIOR    (looking  earnestly  toward  the 
Right,  but  moving  toward  the  Left). 

This  way ! 

I  saw  a  form  there  coming;  and  the  price 
Of  capturing  by  surprise  is  keeping  silence. 
FIRST  WARRIOR.     Ay,  you  are  right.     No  wise 

men  spring  a  trap 

Till  sure  their  prey  is  in  it.     We  withdraw. 
Exeunt — Left — the  Two  WARRIORS. 

(Thunder  and  lightning) 
Enter — Right  rear — MONASKA  attended  by  Kootha's 

COMPANION. 
MONASKA.     At   last,    the   place!     I   feared  we 

should  be  lost, 

So  many  in  pursuit,  and  those  who  know 
The  ground  so  well,  and  we  alas,  so  ill ! 
Strength  speeds  the  feet,  but  knowledge  aims 

the  bow, 

And  where  the  one  but  just  begins  the  race, 
The  arrows  of  the  other  cleave  the  goal. 
Who  could  have  thought  so  many  cross-roads 

here 

And  short-cuts  to  a  pathway  well-nigh  straight  ? 
At  last,  we  seem  now  to  have  dodged  the  foe; 
And  if  I  find  Waloon — what  then? — I  fear 
We  might  attempt  escape  in  vain. — Perchance 
It  may  be  best  that  she  should  not  be  here, 
To  die  disgraced  if  found  with  me — no,  no; 
Did  she  but  dream  of  life  I  plan  for  her, 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  12$ 

Disgrace   from   its   foes    would   to   her   seem 

honor ! — 
[What  sanguine  brain  is  mine !     How  know  I 

this? 

To  most  men  no  disgrace  can  loom  like  theirs 
Who  dare  do  aught  save  by  the  grace  of  custom. 
Where  earth's  esteem  is  what  all  strive  for  first, 
Her  customs  make  them  cowards  to  the  call 
Of  conscience;  and  the  foulest  crime 
Seems  not  a  curse,  if  it  be  only  common. 
Waloon  too — could  I  ever  dare  reveal 
To  what  departure  from  all  common  ways, 
To  all  that  she  deems  holy,  I  had  led  her  ? 
What  right  have  I,  more  than  those  priests 

have  there 

To  slay  me  for  the  safety  of  their  souls, — 
What  right  have  I  to  shade  her  future  life, 
Or  slay  her,  as  it  may  be,  for  my  love  ? 
And  were  she  now  to  come  and  find  in  me 
A  murderer,  where  she  hopes  to  find  a  god, 
A  coward,  driven  in  fright  from  ordeals 
Which  she  had  prayed  would  prove  him  fit  for 

heaven, — 
Oh,  how  might  she  abhor   these   treacherous 

arms, 

Thrown  open  to  receive  her!  how  detest 
Lips  that  to  keep  her  love  must  keep  their  lies ! 
What  has  my  rashness  wrought?     Is  it  so  well 
For  one  man  to  resist  what  all  men  wish? — 


124  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

The  customs  that  the  centuries  have  crowned? 
How  many  have  dared  all  to  thwart  the  world 
And  only  thwarted  good  the  world  could  do 

them! 

I  might  have  passed  from  earth  upon  a  throne, 
Revered  by  all  men,  and  beloved  by  her, — 
Her  god ! — and  shall  I  now  become  her  fiend  ? — 
Live  on  condemned  by  her,  because  I  dared 
To  fight  against  a  world  that  all  should  serve? 
Ah,  if  my  dying  could  have  given  one  heart 
That  comfort  of  the  spirit  which  all  crave, 
How  could  my  soul  have  wrought  a  godlier 

deed? 

We  live  our  lives  for  use;  if  men  misuse  us, 
Far  better  so  than  that  we  lose  all  use. 
And  yet, — what  is  our  use? — Oh,  would  some 

power 

Could  tell  us  how  to  balance,  in  our  lives, 
The  rule  of  others  and  the  rule  of  self ! 
How  can  we,  when  the  two  conflict,  serve  both  ? 
And    which    one    should    we    serve? — which 

first?— Which  chiefly?— 
Till  spirit  seem  no  more  than  matter  is, 
Let  me  serve  that  which  rules  me  through  the 

spirit.] 

(Thunder  and  lightning.} 
(MONASKA  looks  toward  the  Right  Front.} 
Who  come? — more  warriors? — No,  my  soul — 

she  ? — yes — 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  125 

Ye  gods,  if  I  have  not  deserved  the  doom 
Of  deepest  hell,  for  her  sake,  god  me  now. 
Exit  —  Right  —  KOOTHA'S    COMPANION  as  if  to 

guard  MONASKA. 

Enter — Right    Front — WALOON. 

WALOON.     Monaska! — Oh,    ye    angels,    can    it 

be  ? — (kneeling.) 
Nay,    blast    me    not    that    these    unworthy 

eyes 
Should  have  presumed  to  gaze  where  earth  is 

blest 

With  this  transcendent  vision. 
MONASKA.  Yes,  Waloon, 

You  see  me. 

WALOON.     You? — Oh,  love,  chastise  me  not. 
MONASKA  (taking  her  by  the  hand.) 

Rise  up,   Waloon,   rise  up.     I   merely  love 

you. 
WALOON.     You    love    me? — what? — this    poor 

weak  fainting  flesh?     (She  rises.) 
MONASKA.     Yes,  it  is  this  I  love. — I  thank  you, 

friend, 

You  had  such  faith,  and  came  here. 
WALOON.  Thank  the  gods 

That  I  have  lived  to  do  what  pleased  a  god. 
MONASKA.     Waloon,    do   I   fulfill   your    soul's 

ideal 
Of  what  a  god  should  be? 

(The  sky  begins  to  grow  brighter.) 


126  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

WALOON.  Ah,  more,  far  more. 

MONASKA.     If  I  came  back  to  live  on  earth  with 

you 

WALOON.     Nay,  hint  not  that.     Earth  would 

be  too  much  heaven. 
MONASKA.     And  if   I   were   to   tell   you   this, 

Waloon, 

That,  far  away  from  here,  there  lies  a  realm 
Where  gods  like  me  can  live  with  maids  like 

you, 

But  that,  to  go  there,  you  must  rend  yourself 
Forever  from  the  land  that  is  your  home, 
Where  dwell  your  friends  and  kindred,  would 

you  go? 
WALOON.     Though  you  be  god,  you  know  not 

woman's  heart, 
If  you  believe  I  would  not. 
MONASKA.  Swear  it  then. 

WALOON.     I  swear 

MONASKA.  To  leave  this  land  and  all 

you  love  here, 

And  fly  to  live  alone  with  me  forever? 
WALOON.     And  fly  to  live  alone  with  you. 
MONASKA.  Forever? 

WALOON.     I  do. — What  moved? 

(She  points  toward  the  Left.  The  sky 
grows  darker  again,  with  a  sound  of 
distant  thunder  and  slight  flash  of 
lightning.) 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  127 

MONASKA  (looking  toward  the  left). 

It  seemed  a  flash  from  weapons. 
WALOON.     The  woods  are  full  of  warriors,  as  I 

think. 

MONASKA  (anxiously  looking  around). 
I  see — are  all  about — each  side  of  us. 

0  heavens,  our  time  has  come! — Yet  all  draw 

back!— 

We  have  a  moment  more. 

(pointing  to  the  moss-covered  bench,  apparently 
hidden  behind  a  tree  near  the  Right  Rear.) 

Waloon,  in  here! 

WALOON  (gazing  around,  and  apparently  seeing 
the  WARRIORS,  then  seating  herself  on  the 
bench,  where  MONASKA  sits  beside  her). 

1  know  not  what  it  means. 

MONASKA.  You  never  heard 

Of  hosts  that  come  with  gods  to  visit  earth  ? 
Waloon,  were  I  to  tell  you  that  the  realm 
In  which  the  gods  dwell  could  be  reached  by 

you 

In  one  way  only, — in  the  self -same  way 
That  severs  in  the  temple  soul  from  form 
In  him  your   priests   and   people   choose   as 

god? 

WALOON.     Then  I  would  thank  the  force  that 

severed  me 

From  all  that  could  weigh  down  a  soul  so  light 
That  but  for  them  I  too  might  soar  to  heaven. 


128  THE  AZTEC  GOD. 

MONASKA.     Swear  you  mean  truly  what  you 

say,  Waloon. 

WALOON  (lifting  Tier  hand}.     I  swear  it. 
MONASKA  (motioning  her  to  drop  her  hand}. 

Wait — could  you  return  again 
And  be  a  priestess  in  the  temple  there, 
As  you  have  told  me  that  you  would  become, 
With  all  the  honor  that  a  priestess  has, 
And  all  the  consciousness  of  deeds  divine, 
And  could  you,  as  the  years  wore  on,  forget 

The  love  you  once  had  borne  this  god 

WALOON.  No,  no. 

I  never  could  forget  that. 
(The  sky  from  here  on  keeps  growing  brighter.} 
MONASKA.  Hear  me  through. 

Your  king  is  absolute.     He  could  do  all 
Your  heart  desires.     What  say  you,  should 

there  come 

A  time  when  he — he  loves  you  now,  Waloon — 
Should  choose  you  for  his   queen.     If  this, 

Waloon, 

This  exaltation  over  all  the  earth, 
Were  your  bright  destiny,   say,   would  you 

choose 

To  die,  die  here  alone  with  faith  in  one 
Whose  only  welcome  for  you  is  a  blow? — 

(doubling  and  lifting  his  fist.} 
Would  you  choose  this? 
WALOON.  I  would. 


THE  AZTEC  GOD.  129 

MONASKA.  In  truth? 

WALOON.  I  would. — 

(half  rising  and  looking  toward  the  Left.) 
Who  is  that  coming? 
MONASKA  (looking  the  same  way,  then  at  her}. 

Do  not  be  afraid. 

Why  should  a  soul  with  faith  sublime  as  yours 

Fear  aught? — Your  love  alone,  if  nothing  else, 

Could  here  create  of  me  the  god  you  think  me. 

(hurriedly  and  nervously,  as  he  induces  her  to  lie 

on  the  moss-covered  bench.} 
These  come  to  summon  both  of  us  to  heaven. 
Here  darling,  rest  your  head  upon  this  mound. 
Cast  one  look  more  at  me,  then  let  me  veil 
These  loving,  earthly  eyes  from  all  of  earth. 
A  look  like  this  must  never  see  the  stroke 
That   drives   the   soul-light   out   of   them. — 

There,  there, 

You  are  content,  my  darling,  you  are  sure? — 
Content  to  live  with  me  in  spirit  only? 
WALOON.     I  am.     I  am. 

MONASKA.  Farewell. — I   mean   farewell 

To  earthly  presence. 

(placing  a  branch  or  wreath  over  her  eyes.} 

Now  to  angel  hands 
I  leave  my  angel — nor  a  whit  too  soon. 
(gazing  anxiously  toward  the  Left.} 
WAPELLA  (from  behind  the  Left  Entrance}. 
Monaska. 


COLUMBUS. 


133 


COLUMBUS. 


133 


COLUMBUS. 


INTRODUCTION  :  PLACE  AND  TIME. 

This  drama  is  intended  to  be  a  study,  psychologic  rather 
than  historic,  though  not  unhistoric,  of  the  character  of  Co 
lumbus,  as  manifested  and  developed  in  connection  with  his 
experiences  before,  during,  and  after  his  discovery  of  America. 
The  general  outline  of  the  plot  is  as  follows : 

ACT  FIRST:  In  Portugal  SCENE  FIRST:  A  public 
square.  Talk  about  the  plans  of  Columbus  and  about  him- 
self.  His  entrance,  his  introduction  to  Felipa,  and  invitation 
to  her  house.  SCENE  SECOND  :  Room  in  the  house  of  Felipa. 
Reasons  why  Columbus  hopes  for  success,  the  failure  of  his 
hopes,  and  his  betrothal.  SCENE  THIRD  :  Same  room  ten 
years  later,  rearranged  as  study  of  Columbus.  Hounded  by 
his  creditors  and  wronged  by  the  King,  he  loses  Felipa  by 
death  and  decides  to  leave  Portugal. 

ACT  SECOND:  In  Spain.  SCENE  FIRST:  A  Spanish 
camp  at  midnight.  Columbus  has  enlisted  as  a  soldier,  is 
ridiculed  for  his  schemes,  has  a  talk  with  Beatrix,  is  present 
at  an  attempted  assassination  of  the  Queen,  and  thus  comes  to 
meet  the  King.  SCENE  SECOND  :  The  Council  of  Salamanca, 
called  to  confer  with  Columbus  and  discuss  his  projects. 
A  summary  of  the  popular  objections  urged  against  them. 
SCENE  THIRD  :  The  exterior  of  the  convent  of  La  Rabida. 
To  prevent  Columbus  from  leaving  her  country,  and  to  insure 
the  success  of  his  plans,  the  Queen  pledges  to  him  the  Crown 
jewels  of  Castile. 

135 


136  COLUMBUS. 

ACT  THIRD  :  In  Transit.  SCENE  FIRST  :  A  street  in 
Palos  near  its  harbor.  The  difficulties  and  opposition  en 
countered  by  Columbus  when  preparing  to  sail,  coming  from 
his  friends,  as  Beatrix,  and  from  his  enemies,  who  try  even  to 
destroy  his  boats.  SCENE  SECOND  :  The  deck  of  his  ship  at 
sea.  The  mutineers,  their  talk  when  alone  and  when  with 
Columbus,  and  his  dealing  with  it.  The  midnight  discovery 
of  land,  and  the  morning  approach  to  it. 

ACT  FOURTH  :  In  Triumph.  SCENE  FIRST  :  Room  in 
a  house  in  Spain.  Columbus  welcomed  by  Beatrix,  and  urged 
to  secure  benefits  from  the  Crown  ;  and  his  description  to  her 
and  to  Diego  of  his  voyage  and  the  new  land.  SCENE  SECOND  : 
Reception  at  the  palace  of  Barcelona  by  the  King,  Queen,  and 
populace.  SCENE  THIRD  :  Dining  hall  in  the  house  of  Car 
dinal  Mendoza.  The  egg  story. 

ACT  FIFTH :  In  Chains.  SCENE  FIRST  :  Camp  in  His- 
paniola.  Opposition  to  Columbus  on  the  part  of  noblemen 
and  imported  criminals.  Placed  in  chains  by  his  enemies. 
SCENE  SECOND  :  House  in  Seville.  Death  of  Columbus. 
SCENE  THIRD  :  A  final  tableau  with  hymn,  representing  a 
vision  of  the  dying  Columbus,  portraying  the  progress  and 
present  condition  of  America. 


THE   FOLLOWING  CHARACTERS  APPEAR   ONLY 
IN  THE  FOLLOWING  ACTS. 


In  the  First  Act  Only. 

James  of  Mallorca,  Waiter, 

Correo,  Felipa, 

Tailor,  Dona  Correov 

Grocer,  Woman. 

In  the  Second  Act  Only. 

Fernandez,  Zalora, 

Talavera,  Perez, 

St  Angel,  Other  Monk 
Attendant. 

Only  after  the  First,  in  the  Second  and  later  Acts. 

King  Ferdinand,  Arana, 

Gutierrez,  Beatrix, 

Sanchez,  Queen  Isabella, 
Mendoza. 

Only  after  the  Second  and  in  later  Acts. 

Escobar,  Roldan, 

Pintor,  Citizen. 

Only  in  the  Fifth  Act. 

Velasquez,  Young  Diego, 

Gamez,  Fernando, 
Indian. 


What  moves  me  seems  beyond  all  conscious  thought ; 
Seems  like  the  lure  that  leads  the  summer  bird 
Southward  when  comes  the  fall.     It  is  enough^ 
It  is  my  destiny.     I  weigh  it  well, 
And  Jin  d  it  rational ;  yet  why  I  Jirst 
Conceived  it  as  I  do \  I  cannot  tell. 

COLUMBUS,  III,  i. 

Think  not  I  lived  my  life 
To  beg  men  for  a  badge  to  brag  about  ! — 
Enough^  if  I  have  been  an  influence. 

IDEM,  V>  2. 


CHARACTERS. 


(CHRISTOPHER)  COLUMBUS. 
DIEGO  (COLUMBUS). 
BARTHOLOMEW  (COLUMBUS). 
FONSECA. 


DREVIESCA. 

KING  FERDINAND. 
GUTIERREZ. 

SANCHEZ. 

JAMES  OF  MALLORCA. 

CORREO. 

FERNANDEZ. 
MENDOZA. 

TALAVERA. 
ST.  ANGEL. 

ZALORA. 

ARANA. 

PEREZ. 


The  Discoverer  of  America. 
)  Brothers   of    Christopher    Co- 
)      lumbus. 

Archdeacon  of  Seville,  Trav 
eler  in  Portugal,  afterwards 
Bishop  of  Badajos,  Palentia, 
and  Burgos  ;  then  Patriarch 
of  the  Indies. 

A  Portuguese  friend  of  Fon- 
seca,  then  later  his  Secretary, 
Treasurer,  and  Agent  in 
Spain. 

Of  Aragon,  and,  after  Mar 
riage,  of  Spain. 

Gentleman  of  the  Spanish 
King's  Bedchamber,  and 
Officer. 

Officer,  Inspector-General  of 
Columbus'  Expedition. 

President  of  the  Portuguese 
Naval  School. 

Husband  of  Sister  of  Felipa, 
Columbus'  Wife. 

Physician  and  Scientist  of  Spain 

Archbishop  of  Toledo,  Grand 
Cardinal  of  Spain. 

Bishop  of  Avila,  Confessor  to 
the  Queen. 

Receiver  of  Ecclesiastical  Rev 
enues  of  Aragon. 

£  Bishops  of  Spain. 

A  Monk,  subsequently  Prior  of 
the  Convent  of  La  Rabida 
near  Palos. 


139 


140 


CHARACTERS. 


ESCOBAR. 
PINTOR. 

ROLDAN. 

GAMEZ. 

VELASQUEZ. 

YOUNG  DIEGO. 

FERNANDO. 

TAILOR. 

GROCER. 

WAITER. 

MOOR. 

OTHER  MONK. 

ATTENDANT. 

INDIAN. 

FELIPA  (PERESTRELLO). 

BEATRIX  (ENRIQUEZ). 


QUEEN  ISABELLA. 

DONA  CORREO. 

WOMAN. 
MAID. 


)  Sailors  with  Columbus,  Settlers 
f      in  the  New  World. 

Subtreasurer  in  Hispaniola. 
Eldest  Son  of  Columbus. 
Youngest  Son  of  Columbus. 


In  the  First  Act. 


In  the  Second  Act. 

In  the  Fifth  Act. 

Wife  of  Columbus,  Mother  of 

young  Diego. 
Companion  of  Columbus  after 

Felipa's    death,    Mother    of 

Fernando  Columbus. 
Of  Castile  and,  after  Marriage, 

of  Spain. 

Sister  of  Felipa,  wife  of  Correo. 
In  the  First  Act. 
In  First  and  other  Acts. 


CITIZENS,  OFFICERS,  SOLDIERS,  COURTIERS,  SAILORS, 
SETTLERS,  WOMEN,  ETC. 


COLUMBUS. 


ACT  FIRST. 

SCENE  FIRST. — A  street  or  square  in  Lisbon, 
Portugal.  Backing  at  the  Right,  a  wineshop, 
in  front  of  which  are  two  tables  each  with  four 
chairs  about  it.  Backing  at  the  Left,  a  convent 
wall  ending  against  a  chapel,  the  door  of  which 
faces  the  audience.  Entrances  at  the  Right 
Center  through  the  door  of  the  wineshop;  at  the 
Left  Center  through  a  curtain  hanging  in  the 
doorway  of  the  chapel ;  and  at  the  Right  and 
Left  Sides  through  streets.  The  rising  curtain 
reveals  FONSECA  and  JAMES  OF  MALLORCA 
seated  at  the  Right.  The  following  is  chanted 
in  the  chapel. 

0  Life  divine,  from  thee  there  springs 

All  good  that  germs  and  grows, 
Thy  Light  behind  the  sunlight  brings 

The  harvests  to  their  close. 

0  Life  divine,  thou  art  the  source 

Of  truth  within  the  soul ; 
Thou  art  the  guide  through  all  the  course 

That  leads  it  to  its  goal. 
141 


142  COLUMBUS. 

O  Life  divine,  what  soul  succeeds 

In  aught  on  earth  but  he 
Who  moves  as  all  desires  and  deeds 

Are  lured  and  led  by  thee! 

Enter — from   the   Wineshop — BREVIESCA,  and  a 

CITIZEN. 

FONSECA  (to  JAMES).     You  came  to  see? — 
JAMES.  That  man  Columbus. 

FONSECA.  Him? 

A  crank, — and  worse,  a  creaking  crank ! 
JAMES.  Without 

Some  crank  to  creak  of  it,  men  might  forget 
The  wheels  of  thought  were  made  to  move 

them  on. 
FONSECA.     You  place  thought  on  the  right  track 

once,  you  find 

What  moves  it  on  is  not  what  moves  it  off. 
They  differ. 
BREVIESCA  (to  the  CITIZEN).     I  must  wait  till 

church  is  out; 

Then  meet  by  accident — go  home  with  her, 
And  fish  an  invitation  to  her  house — 
A  lovely  girl,  Felipa! — As  I  live! 
Enter — Left — DIEGO. 

That  man  I  met  when  traveling  in  Spain ! 
Is  always  looming  up.     I  wonder  what 

Should  bring 

DIEGO  (to    BREVIESCA).     Good-day    to    Senior 
Breviesca. 


COLUMBUS.  143 

BREVIESCA  (to  DIEGO).     Good-day  to  you. 

Exit— Left— the  CITIZEN. 

DIEGO  (looking  toward  the  chapel) .    Your  servant, 
Senior. — So ! — 

At  your  devotions  that  you  told  me  of — 

Front  door  ones,  too ! — No  wonder  you  deemed 
strange 

My  studying  for  the  priesthood ! 
BREVIESCA.  But  you  said 

That  you  had  turned  from  it. 
DIEGO.  Oh  yes!  Truth  is 

That  I  too  am  in  love — but  love  myself. 
[BREVIESCA.     Are  candid. 
DIEGO.  Wish  to  be.      For  that  I  changed. 

God  started  man;  man's  deviltry  the  priest. 

For  one,  I  like  the  thing  God  started  best. 
BREVIESCA.     Like  others,  eh? — yet  like  yourself. 
DIEGO.  I  do; 

That  is,  we  two  do — God  and  I. 
BREVIESCA.  And  now 

They  style  you,  "Your  Irreverence"? 
DIEGO.  I   am   reverent. 

BREVIESCA.     A  different  way  of  looking! 
DIEGO.  Looking  downward, 

One  seems  irreverent;  looking    upward,    not 

so.] 
FONSECA  (to  BREVIESCA,  rising  and  going  toward 

him  with  JAMES)  .     Is  this  not  Senior ? 

BREVIESCA  (to  FONSECA).     Senior  Breviesca? 


144  COLUMBUS. 

FONSECA.     And  I,  Fonseca — Spaniard — met  you 

once 

In  Seville.     You  recall  ? — 
BREVIESCA.  Archdeacon — yes. 

You  honor  me. 
FONSECA.     You  pleased  me  when  we  met. 

(introducing  JAMES.) 

Professor  James — Mallorca — naval  school. 
BREVIESCA  (introducing  DIEGO). 

And  Senior  Diego  of (hesitating}. 

DIEGO.  The  world. 

BREVIESCA.  Quite  true! 

DIEGO.     A  traveler,  knowing  little — would  know 

more. 
JAMES.     A  wish  to  my  own  heart!     I  came  to 

meet 

The  mariner  Columbus  here. 
Enter— from     the     Chapel — FELIPA,     CORREO, 

and  DONA  CORREO. 

BREVIESCA.     So?  (then  seeing  FELIPA).     Ah! 
DIEGO  (to  JAMES  as  he  looks  at  FELIPA)  . 

A  pretty  point,  too,  for  his  exclamation. 
JAMES  (to  DIEGO).    Would  you  see   more   of 

it? 

(To  FELIPA.)     Good-day. 
FELIPA   and   DONA   CORREO.     Good-day. 
CORREO  (to  all).     Good-day. 
JAMES  (introducing  DIEGO). 

Allow  me,    Captain — Senior   Diego, 


COLUMBUS.  145 

A  traveler  like  yourself. — 

(introducing  to  the  ladies)  Seniora  C'rreo, 
And  Seniorita  F'Hpa  Perestrello. 
Will  sit?— and,  Waiter? 

Enter — from  the  Wineshop — WAITER. 

Wine  here. 

[WAITER.  Red  or  white? 

JAMES  (to  all).     What  say  you? 
DONA  CORREO.  None  for  me,  thanks. 

JAMES  (to  FELIPA).  You? 

FELIPA.  Nor  me. 

JAMES    (to    the    others).      The    gentlemen,    at 

least? 

CORREO.  I  will  perhaps. 

JAMES.     I  thought  it.     (to  the  other  gentlemen.) 

You  too? — White,  not  so?     Its  hue 
Will  fit  this  sunny  air,  and  make  us  think 
Of  drinking  in  the  sunshine !] 

(He  pays  the  waiter  for  the  wine.) 

Exit — into  the  Wineshop — WAITER. 
(All  seat  themselves  at  the  tables,  from  left 
to  right,  in  this  order  :  first  empty 
chair,  then  DIEGO,  D.  CORREO,  COR 
REO,  FELIPA,  JAMES,  BREVIESCA  and 
FONSECA.  JAMES  continues  to  COR 
REO.) 

Was  that  man 
Columbus  in  the  church  ? 
CORREO.  Not  met  him. 


146  COLUMBUS. 

JAMES  No? — 

A  sailor,  drawing  maps  now  for  our  school — 
FOXSECA,     Who  should  be   kept  to  that   and 

facts — not  draw 
So  much  upon  his  fancy. 
[JAMES.  You  should  hear 

His  arguments. 
FOXSECA.  Say  feel  them— all  their  points 

Well  dipped  in  pagan  poison. 
JAMES.  Oh,  not  all! 

FOXSECA.     Enough  to  make  all  deadly. 
JAMES.  Beg  your  pardon; 

But  I  lack  scent  to  follow  up  your  trail. 
FOXSECA.     You  know  a  priest  should  save  the 

world  from  lies  ? 

JAMES.     Have  no  scent  yet! — am  senseless?] 
Enter — from  the  Wineshop — WAITER  with  five 
glasses  of  wine,  and  sets  them  before 
the  gentlemen. 

FONSECA.  Put  it  thus: 

If    what    he    says   be  right,    the   church   is 

wrong. 
JAMES.     Oh,  not  so  bad  as  that! — has  not  found 

out. 
FOXSECA.     If  what  he  says  be  wrong,  his  dupes 

will  drown,     (to  CORREO.) 
Not  so? 

CORREO.     It  is  the  first  time  yet  that  I 
Have  heard  of  him. 


COLUMBUS.  147 

FONSECA.  You  will  hear  soon  enough. 

The  surest  proof  we  men  are  not  all  fools, 
Is  in  the  way  we  bruit  them  when  we  find  them. 

DIEGO.     Ay,  and  the  surest  we  are  not  all  brutes, 

Exit — into  the  Wineshop — WAITER. 
Is  in  the  way  our  thinkers  make  us  mind  them. 

JAMES.     A  friend  of  his,  eh  ? 

DIEGO.  Yes. 

CORREO.  Have  known  him  long? — 

Can  tell  us  of  him? 

DIEGO.  Is  from  Genoa; 

A  mathematician,  studied  at  Pavia. 
Since  then,  till  now,  for  more  than  twenty 

years, 

A  sailor  and  a  soldier — in  the  scrubs 
At  Naples,  Tunis,  famous  for  his  fights 
Against  the  infidel — last  year,  the  man 
Who  clampt  his  frailer  bark  against  a  huge 
Venetian  galley,  and  when  both  took  fire, 
Driven  to  the  water,  holding  but  an  oar, 
Swam  in  to  Lisbon;  and  that  oar  of  his, 
All  that  he  brought  here,  may  yet  prove  to  be 
The  scepter-symbol  of  a  mightier  sway 
Than  your  King  ever  dreamed  of. 

CORREO.  Ah! — How  so? 

FELIPA.     Yes,  yes! 

DIEGO.  His  plan  is  now  to  sail  around 

The  world;  and  in  the  trail  he  leaves  behind 
Loop  all  to  Portugal. 


148  COLUMBUS. 

FELIPA.  Around  the  world? 

JAMES.     Oh,  you  should  hear  him  talk! 
FONSECA.  No,  no,  should  not— 

A  mad  dog  to  be  muzzled ! 
DIEGO  (to  FELIPA).  You  should  not— 

Unless  you  wish  to  think  and  feel,  and  thrill 

To  feel,  there  is  a  larger  world  than  ours. 
BREVIESCA.     In  one's  imagination. 
DIEGO.  Be  it  so. 

Imagination  is  the  soul  of  thought. 
[BREVISCA.     Well,   take  the  soul,  but  we  will 
keep  to  sense. 

(FONSECA  nods  at  him  approvingly.) 
DIEGO.     Humph !  many  a  joke  would  better  not 
be  cracked. 

The  kernel's 

BREVIESCA.     Not  entirely  to  your  taste? 
FONSECA.     Well,  well!— Quite  frank  for  stran 
gers! 
JAMES.  Come,  come,  come. 

Enthusiasm  needs  a  margin. 
FONSECA.  But 

We  may  not  need  enthusiasm. 
JAMES  So  ? — 

And  you  say  this? — a  priest? 
BREVIESCA.  And  pray,  why  not? 

JAMES.     Why  not? — Why,    friend,   enthusiasm 
is 

The  essence  of  religion 


COLUMBUS.  149 

DIEGO.  Valueless 

Without  its  uplift  and  its  oversight. 
If  these  it  lack,  it  is  a  lifeless  corpse 
Not  measured  by  its  worth  but  want  of  it. 

(to  JAMES.) 
Not  true? 

JAMES.     I  think  your  training  has  been  good. 
DIEGO.     It  came  from  him  we  speak  of. 
FELIPA    (to    CORREO).  How  I  wish 

That  I  had  known  him! 
CORREO.  You  ? 

FELIPA.         Why,  any  man  (pointing  to  DIEGO) 

To  kindle  fire  like  that 

CORREO.  Must  have  enough 

To  keep  a  maiden  warm  and  cosy,  eh? — 
Think  you  that  follows?     I  have  known  of 

men 
Whose   thought   would   flash   like   lightning, 

lighting  up 
Half  heaven  besides  the  whole  of  earth;  and 

yet 

A  whirlwind,  did  you  trust  to  its  caress, 
Would  never  lead  you  in  a  madder  dance. 
DIEGO.     Not  true  of  him  we  speak  of. — One  less 

mad 

Does  not  exist. 

FONSECA.  Oh,  you  seem  bit  by  him ! 

JAMES.     Come,  come,  the  church  is  wise,  per 
haps,  to  put 


150  COLUMBUS. 

Her  brake  on  wheels  that  else  might  whirl  us 

down, 
But  how  about  those  wheels  when  mounting 

up?] 

Enter — from    the    Chapel — COLUMBUS. 
DIEGO.     Ah,  here  he  comes  to  argue  for  himself. 
(rising  and  extending  his  hand  to  COLUMBUS.) 
Good-day. 

COLUMBUS  (aside).     What!  you  here? 
DIEGO  (aside  to  COLUMBUS).     Yes,  but  no   one 

knows 

We  two  are  brothers.     Better  so,  perhaps. 
COLUMBUS.     I  see — can  help  me  more. 
JAMES  (rising  and  greeting  COLUMBUS). 

The  Captain!     Welcome. 
(introducing  COLUMBUS.) 
Permit — Seniora  Correo — Seniorita 
Felipa  Perestrcllo — the  Archdeacon 
Fonseca,  Senior  Breviesca — Captain 
Correo — sailor  of  experience. 

(All  rise  and  bow  to  COLUMBUS.) 
COLUMBUS  (to  ladies  and  CORREO).     It  gives  me 

joy  to  meet  you. 
CORREO.  Shall  we  sit? 

(All  sit  from  left  to  right  in  this  order  :  COLUM 
BUS,    DIEGO,    DONA    CORREO,    CORREO, 
FELIPA,    JAMES,    BREVIESCA,    and   FOX- 
SEC  A.) 
JAMES.     You  come  here  every  day,  I  take  it? 


COLUMBUS.  151 

COLUMBUS.  Almost. 

JAMES.     Are  making  up  for  time  you  lost  at 

sea? 
COLUMBUS.     Yes,  making  up  and  mounting  up. 

Hike 

The  uplift  of  the  services. 
JAMES  (to  FONSECA).     There,  there, 

Archdeacon,  one  point  scored  against  your 
self! 
Dull  not  the  blade  that  carves  at  your  own 

feast,     (to  COLUMBUS  in  explanation.) 
Oh,  nothing  serious! — an  argument 
About  good  churchmen  and  enthusiasts. 
COLUMBUS.     I   see — and   me.     Yet   men   were 

told  to  preach 
The  truth  to  all  the  world. 

(to  FONSECA.)  You  think  it  done? 

No,  no;  I  am  no  mere  enthusiast. 
BREVIESCA.     And  yet  would  sail  across  the  un 
known  sea. 
COLUMBUS.     I  would. 

BREVIESCA.  But  that 

COLUMBUS.  I  have  good  reasons  for. 

FONSECA.     And  where,  pray,  do  you  find  them? 
COLUMBUS.  Everywhere — 

Without  a  single  fact  against  them. 
BREVIESCA.  Ha, 

Without  a  single  fact ! 
COLUMBUS.  Well,  name  one,  then. 


152  COLUMBUS. 

BREVIESCA.     Enough  for  me,  if  one  could  cross 

the  sea. 

We  should  have  found  it  out. 
[COLUMBUS.  So? — How? 

DIEGO  (to  BREVIESCA).  No,  no; 

The  world  has  had  too  many  men  like  you. 
FONSECA.     And  well  for  its  own  good !     If  lands 

were  there, 

The  Lord  would  let  us  know  it.] 
COLUMBUS.  There  are  lands 

Men  have  not  known. 

FONSECA.         And  that  would  make  you  brave 
The  blazing  waves,  and  have  your  ship  burned 

up? 
COLUMBUS.     Ten   years   ago,   the  waters  just 

beyond 

Cape  Bojador  were  said  to  burn  thus;  now 
Men  sail  them,  far  as  Cape  de  Vere. 
FELIPA.  Is  true. 

COLUMBUS.     And  they  return  with  branches, 

leaves  and  flowers 
That  float  from  further  west;  and  you  have 

read 

The  ancients? 

BREVIESCA.  Yes,  about  Atlantis,  yes; 

But  that  was  lost. — Yet  easily  found,   you 

think. 

I  grant  it — found  by  sinking. 
FONSECA.  Ha,  well  said! 


COLUMBUS.  153 

COLUMBUS.     Oh,  there  are  other  tales!    Late 
travelers  too, 

Like  Marco  Polo  and  John  Mandeville 

FONSECA.     Now  pardon  me;  but  stick,  man,  to 
your  text. 

It  was  of  facts  that  you  began  to  speak 

COLUMBUS.     And  that  which  gives  them  value. 
BREVIESCA.  Fancies,  eh? 

COLUMBUS.     Not  fact-full  only,  but  a  mind  that 

you 

Deem  fanciful  is  needed,  would  a  man 
Put  this  and  that  together,  and  build  up 
The  only  structure  that  can  make  his  facts 
Worth  knowing. 
JAMES  (rising,  as  do  the  others).     True  as  gospel 

that !     But  now 
I  must  be  going,     (to  COLUMBUS.) 

You   will   come   with   me? — 
Another  map — I  would  explain.     Besides, 
Prince  Henry  will  be  there  to-day. 
BREVIESCA  (to  COLUMBUS).  And  he 

Would  let  you  sail  your  ship  up  to  the  moon, 
Were  he  not  in  it. 
FONSECA  (to  BREVIESCA).     Good!    I  like  you, 

man. 

[You  have  some  sense. 
CORREO  (aside,  to  JAMES).     The  Prince  believes 

in  him? 
JAMES.     If  not  in  him,  at  least  in  enterprise. 


154  COLUMBUS. 

COLUMBUS  (to  JAMES).     Is  just  the  meeting  I 

had  prayed  to  have. 

Too  good  in  you  to  further  it! — will  come.] 
CORREO  (to  COLUMBUS).     And  we  shall  see  you 

soon  at  our  home  too  ? 
BREVIESCA    (to    FONSECA).     At    their    home— 

what?  that  madman,  and  not  us? 
COLUMBUS  (to  CORREO).     I  keep  quite  busy  and 

have  little  time 

FELIPA  (to  COLUMBUS).     But  we  have  maps  my 

father  made;  and  these 
You  might  find  helpful. 
COLUMBUS  (to  FELIPA).  Thank  you.    I  will  come. 

Good-day. 

[FELIPA  and  DONA  CORREO.     Good-day. 
(COLUMBUS  and  JAMES  exchange  bows  with  all.) 

Exeunt — Left — COLUMBUS  and  JAMES. 
CORREO  (to  FELIPA  and  DONA  CORREO)  .     But  we 
too  must  be  going. 

They  bow  to  those  that  are  left  behind  them. 

Exeunt — Right — CORREO,  FELIPA  and 

DONA  CORREO,  followed  by  FONSECA. 

DIEGO  (to  BREVIESCA).     Ah,  Senior  Breviesca, 

even  here 

Enthusiasm  has  been  king  to-day; — 
Within  a  single  hour  thrown  wide  apart 
The    palace    bars,    and    parlor    doors    that 

guard 
The  prettiest  girl  in  Portugal. 


COLUMBUS.  155 

BREVIESCA.  Oh,  yes! 

But  wait  you  till  the  end  come. 
DIEGO.  In  the  end, 

As  the  beginning,  nothing  thrives  but  spirit. 

If  trusted,  it  survives  too,  every  time. 

A  prince 

BREVIESCA.         Is  mortal 

DIEGO.  Is  a  lord  of  earth; 

And  on  the  earth  he  sometimes  has  the  power 

To  make  a  man  immortal. 
BREVIESCA.  Humph!     How  strange 

You  like  that  egotist — insufferable ! 
DIEGO.     Why,  no.     The  insufferable  is  you — 

I  mean  to  him.     He  dreams  of  destiny, 

His  whole  soul  in  his  work.     That  soul  speaks 
out 

And  like  a  sovereign.     Souls  are  sovereign 

always. 
BREVIESCA.     One's  destiny  you  think,  is  made 

by  talk? 
DIEGO.     One's  destiny  was  never  yet  fulfilled 

By  one  whose  coward  conscience  dared  not  give 

Expression  to  the  spirit  that  inspired  it. 
Exeunt — Right — BREVIESCA  and  DIEGO.] 

SCENE  SECOND. — A  Parlor  in  the  house  of  DONA 
CORREO  and  FELIPA  at  Lisbon.  FELIPA  and 
an  elderly  Chaperon  sit  working  in  the  rear. 
Entrances  at  Right  and  Left. 


156  COLUMBUS. 

Enter — Right — DONA    CORREO    in    an    outdoor 

dress  as  in  the  First  Act. 

FELIPA.     I  feared  that  you  would  not  be  back. 
Our  Captain 

Columbus  will  be  here  to-day.     They  say 

No  doubt  that  he  will  get  the  ships. 
D.  CORREO.  I  doubt  it. 

FELIPA.     Prince  Henry  promised  him 

D.  CORREO.  The  Prince  is  ill. 

Yet,  could  I,  I  should  like  to  stay  with  you. 

Give  my  excuses,  please — ay,  ay,  and  yours. — 

Breviesca  too  is  coming. 
FELIPA.  That  man,  humph! 

D.  CORREO.     We  all  accept  the  suit. 
FELIPA.  Except  the  one 

That  should  be  suited. 
[D.  CORREO.  Whom  we  all  so  trust, 

We  trust  her  wisdom  also,     (kissing  FELIPA.) 

With  the  Captain 

Be  not  too  cordial. 

FELIPA.  Not  too  cordial? 

D.  CORREO.  No. 

Cordialities  that  make  the  backward  friends 

But  tempt  the  forward  to  presumption.   Force, 

Alive  to  clear  its  own  approaches,  flouts 

A  welcome  meant  for  weakness. 
FELIPA.  He  is  forward? 

D.  CORREO.     A  civil  man  enough! — But  then 
they  say 


COLUMBUS.  157 

FELIPA.     The  one  that  everybody's  bid  can  bind 

Is  everybody's  bondsman. 
D.  CORREO.  But  I  know 

The  neighbors 

FELIPA.  And  I  know  myself.     The  wise 

Make  self  the  mistress  of  their  choice,  I  think. 

D.  CORREO.     Now,  now,  fair  play!     Fair  play 

in  argument, 
Will  catch  our  thoughts  before  it  throws  them 

back. 

They  call  him  nighty. 
FELIPA.  So  are  birds — and  so 

Are — angels 

D.  CORREO.  What? 

FELIPA.  And  every  kind  of  life 

Above  the  common.] 
D.  CORREO.  Why,  my  girl! 

One  might  suppose 

(looking  toward  the  window  at  the  right.) 

But  see!     He  comes.     I  go. 
Be  on  your  guard — and  think.     Good-bye. 

(kissing  her.} 

Exit — Left — DONA  CORREO. 
FELIPA  (to  her  CHAPERON).  And  think? — 

I  need  that  caution? — when  this  beaker  all 

(placing  her   hand  on   her  heart.) 
Is  brimming  to  its  overflow  ? — And  think  ? — 
When  all  my  thoughts  are  radiant  with  his 
form 


158  COLUMBUS. 

Like   surging   sea-waves   glancing    back    the 

sun? — 

Enter — Right — COLUMBUS  carrying  a  roll  of  maps. 
(FELIPA  signals  her  CHAPERON  to  retire.) 

Exit — Left — the  CHAPERON. 
(to  COLUMBUS)  Good-day  to  you. 
COLUMBUS.  Good-day:    was  good  enough 

For  me  before  you  called  it  so. 
FELIPA.  With  all 

Your  disappointments? — It  is  true!     Prince 

Henry 

COLUMBUS.     Has  promised  all  I  wish.     I  shall 

succeed. 
(They  sit  together  on  the  sofa,  while  COLUMBUS 

hands  her  the  maps.) 
FELIPA.     Thank  God! 
COLUMBUS.     Ay,    ay!     Oh,    I    have    sailed    in 

nights, 
Dark  nights,  and  prayed  to  heaven  for  one 

small  star 
To  guide  me.     Now  it  sends  the  Prince  and 

you. 
FELIPA  (unrolling  the  maps  and  looking  at  one) . 

You  do  me  too  much  honor. 
COLUMBUS.                                    Could  I?     Nay; 
A  soul  that  summons  all  that  does  one's  best 
To  do  still  better,  sits  upon  a  throne 
Than  which  none  higher  is  conceivable. 
FELIPA.     I  was  not  conscious 


COLUMBUS.  159 

COLUMBUS.  Nay,  nor  is  a  child 

Of  aught  in  her  of  movement  or  of  form, 
That,  fitting  sweet  ideals  of  loveliness, 
Makes  fancied  grace  and  beauty  visible. 
FELIPA  (looking  down  at  the  map).     And  yet,  I 

had  not  thought  my  father's  maps 

COLUMBUS.     Ay,  they  confirm  twice  over  all  my 

plan — 
Not    they    alone,    but  your    directions    with 

them. 
FELIPA.     Mine?     (sitting  with  one  hand  resting 

on  the  map.) 
COLUMBUS.     Yes,  your  fingers  pointing  out  the 

course. 

It  all  is  there,  just  there  beneath  your  hand. 
A  sailor  steers  the  way  his  compass  points. 
FELIPA  (looking  down  at  her  hand  on  the  map) . 

Is  that  your  compass? 
COLUMBUS.  It  might  compass  me— 

I  mean  my  soul. 
FELIPA.  That  little  hand?     Oh,  what 

A  little  soul ! 

COLUMBUS.     Do  souls  have  size ?     One  might 
Be  universed  in  this;  yet  not  contained 

(pointing  to  her  hand.) 
In  all  the  universe  outside  of  it. 
FELIPA.     To  put  your  soul  thus  in  another's 

hand,— 
Would  that  be  wise? 


160  COLUMBUS. 

COLUMBUS.     Why  not  ? — the  hand  that  serves 
The  soul  one  loves  may  serve  but  selfishly, 
And  yet  serve  best  the  one  who  trusts  to  it. 
FELIPA.     But  should  it  fetter  him  ? — 
COLUMBUS.  Then  would  he  thrill 

In  every  atom  of  his  frame  to  feel 
Its  fingers'  throb  and  pressure. 
FELIPA.  Would  not  bound 

Away? 
COLUMBUS.     Away  and  up,  but  always  back 

again, 

Like  grains  of  sand  in  earthquakes. 
FELIPA.  Foolish  man ! 

COLUMBUS.     Why,  only  God  is  wholly  wise ;  and  I 
Am  but  a  man — so  never  quite  so  manly 
As  when — why,  say — made  foolish. 
FELIPA  (rising,  as  does  also  COLUMBUS). 

Some  one  comes. 

Enter — Right — a  SERVANT,  bringing  a  note. 
FELIPA.     A  note  for  me — from  whom  ? — 
(opening  and  reading  the  note.) 
Exit — Right — SERVANT. 

Can  this  be  true? 

Bad  news  for  us!     Oh  very,  very  bad! — 
The  Prince  is  dead. 

COLUMBUS.       Prince  Henry?     What? — No,  no! 
FELIPA.     It  must  be  so.     You  see  who  sent  it — 

look. 
(handing  the  note  to  COLUMBUS,  who  reads  it.) 


COLUMBUS.  I6l 

COLUMBUS.     Impossible!    Heaven    cannot    be 
malicious ! 

What?  build  so  high  a  structure  for  my  hope, 

Then  knock  the  prop  from  under?     All,  all 

gone? 

FELIPA.     There  may  be  others. 
COLUMBUS.  May  be? — There  are  none. 

FELIPA.     But  you  have  me  still. 
[COLUMBUS.  That  is  it.     We  must 

Forget  all  this — at  least  for  years  and  years. — 

Oh,  I  know  what  it  means! — have  seen  years 

like  them. 

FELIPA.     Forget  all  this? 
COLUMBUS.  You  do  not  understand.  ] 

Prince  Henry  was  my  patron.     Backed  by 
him, 

Success  was  possible;  I  felt  I  trod 

An  equal  plane  with  others  of  your  suitors. 

[I  now  am  worse  off  than  a  beggar. 
FELIPA.  No! 

You  have  your  pencil — still  can  draw 

COLUMBUS.  Yet  not 

The  outlines  I  had  hoped — of  that  new  land, 

And   you,   its   princess.     No;  there  looms  a 
face 

With  more  care-lines  upon  its  wrinkled  brow 

Than  e'er  I  blacked  a  map  with. 
FELIPA.  There  are  ships 

That  still  need  captains. 


1 62  COLUMBUS. 

COLUMBUS.  Could  one  see  their  sails 

Like  arms,  white-surpliced,  praying  heaven 

for  wind, 
Yet  keep  his  prow  still  turned   away  from 

that 
Which  he  had  vowed  to  heaven  that  he  would 

seek  ?] 
FELIPA.     But  you  can  wait — you  are  so  strong! 

— can  wait 

[COLUMBUS.    I  can — but  you — when  lit  by  hope, 

rebuffs 
Are  merely  clouds  aglow  where  dawn  brings 

light. 

But  when  no  ray  of  hope  is  visible, 
The  dark  seems  full  damnation. 
FELIPA.  You  say  this  ? — ] 

I  thought 

COLUMBUS.  Oh,  I! — yes,  I  can  wait  forever. 
The  light  is  in  me.  But  could  you  see  through 
These  forms  that  cloak  it,  worse  than  worst  of 

rags, 

Discourtesy,  suspicion  and  contempt 
Of  those  who  know  Columbus  as  the  fool? 

FELIPA.     Why 

COLUMBUS.     No,  deny  it  not.     I  know  it,  feel 

it. 

Your  mother,  sister,  brother — yes,  I  grant 
They  tolerate  me ;  but  when  patronless 
And  penniless,  it  were  a  different  tale. 


COLUMBUS.  163 

FELIPA.     Nay,  nay;  that  cannot  be!     But  they 
with  me 

Will  feel  how  noble  is  a  man  like  you 

COLUMBUS.     A  pauper  and  fanatic 

FELIPA.  No,  a  man 

Who  all  alone,  can  stand  with  but  one  friend, 
His  own  brave  soul,  and  trample  underfoot 
A  hissing  world  that,  coiling  like  a  snake, 
Would  clutch  him  to  its  clod  and  hold  him 

there. 

COLUMBUS.     Too  much!     To-day  you  think  it, 
but  to-morrow — 

Next  year — in  ten  years No,   I  have  no 

right 

To  put  you  to  the  test.     No,  let  me  go — 
Farewell. 

FELIPA.     Will  you  fare  quite  as  well  without  me  ? 

COLUMBUS.     Felipa,  nay,  it  cannot  be. 

FELIPA.  You  think 

A  woman's  heart,  if  tested  through  long  years 

With    burdening    love,    would  break?     You 

think  it  kinder 
To  break  it  at  the  start? 
Enter — Right — BREVIESCA   shown   in   by   a 

SERVANT. 
COLUMBUS  (not  observing  BREVIESCA).     Felipa, 

no — 

A  faith  like  yours — my  God,  what  shall  I  do? 
I  would  not  harm  you,  yet  have  done  the  harm. 


1 64  COLUMBUS. 

BREVIESCA  (sarcastically  to  the  two}.     Ah,  so!— 

I  see  I  come  too  late — 
FELIPA  (aside,  anxiously  to  COLUMBUS)  .     Except 

For  one  thing ! 

COLUMBUS   (to  BREVIESCA).     Yes — we  are  be 
trothed. 

Exit,  with  sarcastic  bow — Right — BREVIESCA. 
CURTAIN. 

SCENE  THIRD. — The  same  as  in  SCENE  SECOND, 
now  the  home  of  COLUMBUS.  Maps  and 
charts  are  hanging  on  the  walls,  and  lying  on  a 
large  table  at  the  Back  Center;  also  books,  in 
struments  for  navigation,  and  implements  for 
measuring  and  drawing.  A  window  at  the  Right, 

Entrances  at  the  Right  and  Left. 

Enter — Right — a  MAID  and  a  WOMAN,  followed 
by  other  Women. 

WOMAN.     Is  he  at  home? 

MAID.  Not  now. 

WOMAN.  What  seems  he  doing? 

[MAID.     Oh,  just  the  same  as  ever! 

WOMAN.  Nothing  eh? 

(to  the  other  Women  who  have  remained  near  the 

door.) 
Come  in.     (to  MAID) 

We  thought  that  we  should  like  to  see ] 

(handling  charts  and  implements  on  the  table.) 

MAID.     You  really  should  not  touch  them. 


COLUMBUS.  165 

WOMAN.  No  ?     Why  not  ? 

MAID.     He  would  not  like  it. 

WOMAN.  Oh,  of  course  not !  but 

He  need  not  know  it ;  need  he  ? — 
(pointing  to  a  chart.) 

What  a  blotch! 

MAID.     A  chart,  you  know. 

WOMAN.  A  chart? — A  chart  of  what? 

I  never  saw  a  chart  like  that — looks  like 
A  crazy  quilt.     And  so  he  wastes  his  time 
On  things  like  these? — Felipa  dying  too! 
[No wonder! — Think  of  it! — Ten  mortal  years 
Of  this,  and  no  one  knows  what  more.     At 

night, 

I  would  not  dare  to  stay  alone  with  him, 
Would  you? — say,  would  you? 

MAID.  Why !     I — no — he  never 

WOMAN.     Of  course  not.     You  would  be  afraid, 

of  course. 

I  had  a  cousin  once  who  went  insane. 
And  all  his  family  had  to  play  insane 
To  keep  him  company.     The  sport  was  royal 
Till,  sure  that  he  was  royal  and  they  slaves, 
He  ordered  off  their  heads. 

MAID.  And  then? 

WOMAN.  And  then 

They  left  off  playing,  and  made  war  on  him; 
And  so  dethroned  him.     They  should  do  so 
here ; 


1 66  COLUMBUS. 

The  sooner,  too,  the  better!     Look  at  this:] 

(taking  up  a  sharp  instrument.) 
Not  safe  in  hands  like  his ! 

(knocking  at  the  door  at  the  Right.) 

Hark!     What  is  that? 
Can  it  be  he?     Say,  you  can  let  us  out 

(starting  for  the  Left.) 
The  other  door,  not  so? 
MAID.  No  need  of  that! 

Is  no  one  but  the  tailor. 
WOMAN.  Sure  of  it? 

(crossing  the  room  and  looking  out  the  window  at 

the  Right.) 

[MAID.     Comes  every  day. 
WOMAN.  What  for? 

MAID.  To  bid  us  think 

Of  Adam's  fall  that  made  men  civilized, 
Wear  clothes,  and  bear  the  curse  of  paying 
for  them.] 

(opening  the  door  at  the  Right.) 
Enter — Right — TAILOR,  to  whom  she  speaks. 
Is  out. 

TAILOR.  Oh,  yes,  I  know — is  always  out — 

Out  of  his  head  at  least.     Were  he  but  out 
My  clothes,  it  would  be  better. — Left  no  word  ? 
MAID.     He  bade  me  say  that  he  expects  the 

king 

[TAILOR.     If   all   the  kings  that  are  expected 
came, 


COLUMBUS.  167 

Few  would  be  left  for  subjects.     I  will  strip 
And  cage  his  bareness  for  a  jail-show.     Ugh! 

MAID.     But,  really,  he  is  honest.  He  expects ] 

Enter — Right — suddenly,  the  GROCER. 
GROCER.     Tell  him  his  expectations  are  too  old. 
Fresh  expectations,  like  fresh  eggs,  may  hatch. 
Not    so    with    stale    ones,    though,  however 

white. 

WOMAN  (turning  from  the  window  at  the  Right, 
where  she  has  been  looking  out,  and  gazing  at 
the  GROCER). 
The  grocer,  eh?  (speaking  to  the  other  women.) 

And   all    the   family 
Are  coming — and   the   Captain  too.     I  saw 

them. — 

Will  be  a  scene  here.  I  prefer  the  background. 
Exit — Left — Wouxx,  followed  by  the  other  Women. 
[TAILOR  (to  GROCER)  .  Suppose  we  club  together 

—ay,  let  fly 

Our  blows  at  him  together — down  him  sooner !] 
GROCER  (to  MAID,  and  holding  a  paper  toward 

her).     I  cannot  fill  this  order. 
MAID.  But  you  must. 

His  wife  is  needing  it. 
GROCER.  But  I  myself 

Cannot  afford  a  wife 

TAILOR.  When  keeping  his. 

Enter — Right — DONA  CORREO  and  CORREO  push 
ing  FELIPA  in  a  chair  upon  wheels. 


168  COLUMBUS. 

MAID  (to  GROCER). 

His  wife  is  ill.     You  would  not  let  her  die? 
GROCER.     Not  I,  but  he;  and  there  are  other 

shops 

MAID.     But  we  have  tried  them  all. 

GROCER.  Then  try  the  jail. 

They  feed  men  there, — or  let  him  sell 

DONA    CORREO     (bowing    to    GROCER).      You 

say? 

GROCER  (pointing  toward  the  charts  and  imple 
ments  on   the  table).      He   ought  to  sell 
these  things  and  pay  us  off. 
DONA  CORREO.     Not  paid  you  yet?     Oh,  well, 

you  may  be  right ! 
FELIPA  (to  D.  CORREO).     They  may  be  right? 

Why,  this  would  ruin  him. 
DONA  CORREO  (to  FELIPA).     Not  outside  things 

that  men  can  take  away 
Bring  ruin,  but  the  things  that  stay  within, 
Which  would  they  could  take ! 

(to  GROCER  and  TAILOR.) 

He  himself  is  coming. 
Enter — Right — COLUMBUS. 
COLUMBUS    (to    GROCER    and    TAILOR).     You 

seek  for  me  ? 
TAILOR  (holding  his  bill  toward  COLUMBUS).     I 

brought  your  bill. 

GROCER.                                      And  I. 
TAILOR.     We  say  an  honest  man 


COLUMBUS.  169 

COLUMBUS  (motioning  toward  FELIPA).    But  not, 

please,  now. 
My  wife  is  ill. 
TAILOR  (pointing  toward  the  table}.     We  say — 

your  sister  too — 
[An  honest  man  would  sell  these  traps;    not 

let 

His  creditors  go  begging. 
GROCER.  Ay,  or  come  so. 

(appealing  to  FELIPA.) 
You  think  it  too.     (to  COLUMBUS.) 

You  see  it  in  her  face. 
TAILOR    (to    GROCER).     Oh,    he   sees   nothing! 

Give  one's  brain  a  whack. 
It  flies  from  earth  to  stars — but  all  in  here. 

(pointing  to  his  head.} 

COLUMBUS  (referring  to  the  implements  on  the 
table) .  These  are  the  tools  I  work  with — 
all  of  them. 

GROCER.  Humph,  they  work  poorly,  better  give 
them  up ! 

COLUMBUS.     The  king 

TAILOR.     For  ten  years  we  have  heard  of  him. 
COLUMBUS.      Your  bill   is   only   three  months 

old. 

TAILOR.  Yes;  this  one. 

COLUMBUS.     The  present  king  has  not  been  on 

the  throne. 
But 


170  COLUMBUS. 

GROCER.     All  kings  are  the  same  to  us — as  you 

Will  find. 

COLUMBUS.     You  need  but  wait— 
TAILOR.  Have   learned    that   lesson.] 

COLUMBUS.     My  brothers  will  be  here  to-day. 
TAILOR.  And  they? 

COLUMBUS.     Will  bring  me  proofs  of  favor  at 

the  court. 
TAILOR.  If  so? 
COLUMBUS.  Why,  they  will  bring  me  what  will 

pay 

A  score  of  times  and  more  your  paltry  bills. 
What  say  you  ? 
GROCER  (to  TAILOR).     Shall  we  wait?     Fact  is, 

one  finds 

It  hard  to  break  old  habits.     Shall  we,  eh? 
(TAILOR  bow s  in  acquiescence.     GROCER  continues 

to  COLUMBUS.) 

But  see  we  get  what  balances  our  claim, 
Or  we  shall  weigh  these  things  against  them 

yet,  (pointing  to  the  table.) 
And  sell  them  too  by  weight. 

Exeunt — Right — GROCER  and  TAILOR. 
COLUMBUS.  No  doubt  they  will. 

Too  often  in  the  judgments  of  this  world 
Worth  yields  to  weight. 
DONA  CORREO.  A  scandal  and  disgrace — 

A  scene  like  this  in  my  own  sister's  house ! 
FELIPA.     Why,  sister,  when  the  king 


COLUMBUS.  171 

DOXA  CORREO.  Oh,  dear,  you  know 

That   talk   is   fiction,    like    the   most   things 

here. 
FELIPA.     But  yet  the  king  took  interest  in  his 

charts, 

And  sent  for  them. 

CORREO.  Ay,   ay,   and  found  out  so — 

Quite  likely — that  he  cannot  draw  at  all — 
Except    from    his    own    fancy.     Who    wants 

that? 

A  visionary  man  produces  visions; 
And  in  the  world  that  is,  men  want  what  is. 
[COLUMBUS.     Why,  brother,  I  am  accurate. 
DOXA  CORREO.  Perhaps. 

Who   knows    it    though?     Yourself?     If    one 

besides, 

He  too  has  made  your  own  discoveries. 
And  if  no  mortal  knows  it,  all  will  judge 
By  what  they  hear.     What  do  they  hear  of 

you? 

CORREO.     Humph,  I  can  tell,     (to  COLUMBUS.) 

Forgive  me;  it  is  time 
You  knew  the  truth.     I  thought,  perhaps,  to 

lease 

A  ship  that  you  could  sail, — make  money  by, 
But — 

DOXXA  CARREO.     Been  too  long  from  practice? 
CORREO.  No,  no ;  worse ! 

DOXA  CORREO.     Is  but  an  idler,  as  they  think? 


172  COLUMBUS. 

CORREO.  Worse  yet — 

One  who  should  not  be  trusted,  sure  to  do 
The  wrong  thing  for  the  right. 
COLUMBUS.  And  you  say  that? 

CORREO.     Not  I,  but  those  that  give  you  repu 
tation. 

COLUMBUS.     Am  I  to  blame? 
CORREO.  Who  else  is,  pray?     They  say 

That  you  would  sail  but  heaven  alone  knows 

where. 

And  I  confess,  I  half  believe  you  would.] 
FELIPA.     Oh,  brother! 
COLUMBUS   (aside  to  CORREO).     Cruel,  talking 

thus  to  her!     (to  FELIPA.) 
The  other  room  will  be  far  better,  dear, 
Than  this.     And  they? — they  but  exaggerate. 
They  hurt  my  feelings?     Oh,  why,  why,  why, 

why, 

You  never  saw  a  fisher  catch  a  fish 
Whose  hook  would  not  get  tangled  in  the  line. 
Just  wait,  and  see  me  get  the  better  of  them. 
You  trust  in  me.     There. 

(gesturing  to  the  MAID  to  wheel  FELIPA.) 

I  am  coming  soon. 
Exeunt — Left — MAID    wheeling    FELIPA    in    her 

chair. 
DONA   CORREO    (to    CORREO).     Quite   right! — 

The  time  has  come  to  tell  him  truth. 
(to  COLUMBUS  and  gesturing  toward  CORREO.) 


COLUMBUS.  173 

You  think  him  cruel.     What  are  you,  your 
self?    (pointing  toward  the  Left.) 

See  what  ten  years  of  this  have  made  of  her? 

I  come,  and  find  her  wanting  everything — 

Food,  physic — nearly  dying  at  your  hands. 
COLUMBUS.     Do  not  say  that. 
DONA  CORREO.  Humph !     It  is  time  I  did. 

COLUMBUS.     She  still  believes  in  me. 
DONA  CORREO.  As  infidels 

In  their  Mohammed,  and  are  cursed  for  it. 
[COLUMBUS.     I    think   that   you   forget.     How 
many  men 

Of  humble,  foreign  birth  demand  and  get 

A  summons  to  an  audience  with  the  king? 

Say  that  of  such  importance  that  the  king, 

To  weigh  it,  calls  his  wisest  counselors? 

Who  argue  it  for  days,  with  some,  at  least, 

That  side  with  him  whom  you  think  stands 

alone  ? 

DOXA  CORREO.     How  many  side  with  him? 
COLUMBUS.  Enough  to  make 

The  king  request  his  charts — the  work  of  years 

That  you  think  wasted. 
DONA  CORREO.  That  was  months  ago; 

And  nothing  followed. 
COLUMBUS.  There  is  too  much  life 

In  truth  of  any  sort,  when  sown,  to  doubt 

Its  growing.     I  have  made  a  good  beginning. 
DONA  CORREO.     A  very  small  one. 


174  COLUMBUS. 

COLUMBUS.  So  a  seed  is  too, 

Whose  growth  is  great.     When  one  awaits  the 

dawn, 

A  flush  is  better  than  a  flash,  which  oft 
But  bodes  a  rush-light.] 
Enter — Left — the    MAID,   crosses   the  room,   and 

opens  the  door  at  the  Right. 

Enter — Right — DIEGO    and    BARTHOLOMEW,    to 
whom   COLUMBUS   now  turns. 

Ah,  they  come  at  last! — • 
My  brothers,  welcome! 
DIEGO  (to  COLUMBUS).     So  to  you. 

(to  DONA  CORREO  and  CORREO.)   And  you. 
BARTHOLOMEW.     And  all. 

(All  greet  each  other.) 
Exit— Left— the  MAID. 

COLUMBUS  (to  DIEGO).     You  bring  me  news? 
DIEGO.  Ay,  by  and  by. 

(glancing  at  DONA  C.  and  CORREO.) 
COLUMBUS  (to  DONA  C.  and  CORREO).     You  will 

excuse  us? 
DONA  CORREO.  We  will  leave. 

Exeunt — Left — DONA  C.  and  CORREO.) 
COLUMBUS  (to  DIEGO).  This  news? 

DIEGO    (sadly).      My   brother,   can    you   bear 

it? 
COLUMBUS.  I  have  borne 

With  much. 
DIEGO.         Yes,  vou  have  been  misunderstood, 


COLUMBUS.  175 

Misjudged,  maligned;  but  all  were  less  than 
this. 

COLUMBUS.     How  so? 

BARTHOLOMEW.     The  king 

COLUMBUS.  He  has  not  sent  the  money? 

BARTHOLOMEW.     The  money? 

COLUMBUS.  Yes,  his  agent  promised  it. 

BARTHOLOMEW.     We  had  not  thought  you  cared 
so  much  for  that. 

COLUMBUS.     Not   I,   but   these — my  wife,   my 

family. 

The  king  sent  here  requesting  all  details. 
It  took  me  weeks  to  draft  them,  had  to  turn 
My  methods  upside  down  and  inside  out, 
And  mass  and  multiply  and  magnify, 
Till  truth  was  large  enough  for  all  to  see  it. 
Meantime,  what  gaze  had  I  to  fix  upon 
My  earnings?     They  all  fled,  and  now 

DIEGO.  I  see. 

No  watch-dog  keeps  a  creditor  at  bay 
Like  well-housed  earnings. — But  we  heard  no 

talk 
Of  pay. 

COLUMBUS.     When  it  was  clearly  promised? — 

what? 

[Then  I,  who  trusted  in  the  royal  word 
And  gave  it  currency,  am  made  for  this 
A  charlatan  who  trades  upon  a  cheat  ?] 

DIEGO.     And  worse.     He  holds  your  charts. 


COLUMBUS. 

COLUMBUS.  He  keeps  them? — Why — 

With    truth,    the    longer    kept,    the    longer 

thought  of; 

And  thinking  feeds  conviction.     On  my  soul, 
The  king  will  let  me  sail  yet.     You  shall  see. 

BARTHOLOMEW.     Oh  no,  not  you ! 

COLUMBUS.  Not  me,  not  me? — and  why? 

DIEGO.     My  brother,  all  your  draughts,  your 

work  for  years 

Rest  like  a  charter  in  another's  hands. 
That  other  is  the  pilot  of  a  ship 
Now  sailing  west;  and  his  head  is  decreed 
To  wear  the  wreath  for  what  your  own  con 
ceived. 

COLUMBUS.     Impossible! 

DIEGO.  I  tell  the  truth. 

COLUMBUS.  His  name? 

DIEGO.     A  secret — but  no  cowardly  soul  like 

his 
Will  ever  cross  the  sea. 

COLUMBUS.  I  could  prefer 

He  should,  than  by  a  failure  earn  my  scheme 
Discredit. 

DIEGO.         Which  he  surely  will. 

COLUMBUS.  Too  true! 

[DiEGO.     Oh,  curse  the  king! 

COLUMBUS.  But  could  you  have  conceived 

Such  baseness? 

DIEGO.  Why  ask  me?     Am  I  the  devil?! 


COLUMBUS.  177 

COLUMBUS.     What  reasons  could  he  have? 
DIEGO.  Enough  of  them 

In   such   a   world! — You,    you   have   genius, 
brains ; 

And  those  without  them  must  get  even  with 

you, 

If  not  by  higher  then  by  lower  means. 
You  are  original  and  they  derived; 
And  thought  full-centered  in  itself,  owns  not 
A  parentage  that  puts  another  first. 
And  you  are  foreign,  they  are  Portuguese. 
COLUMBUS.     But  such  dishonor  in  a  king! 
DIEGO.  Why  not? 

A  king  is  human;  place  is  relative; 
Down  honor,  and  you  boost  dishonor  up. 
Make  men  in  common  kneel,  and  common  men 
Stand  up  like  giants.     Banish  out  of  sight 
The  bright  minds,  and  the  dull  ones  beam 

like  beacons. 
(A  knocking  is  heard  at  the  Right  Entrance.} 

Enter — Left — the  MAID. 
MAID.     My  master? 
COLUMBUS  (to  the  MAID).     Well? 
MAID.  Your   wife   desires   to  see 

you. 

COLUMBUS.     I  come;  but  there  is  knocking  at 
the  door. 

Exit— Right— the  MAID. 
(COLUMBUS  continues  to  his  brothers.) 


178  COLUMBUS. 

If  she  were  not  so  ill  now,  I  should  leave 
This  Portugal  forever. 
BARTHOLOMEW.  Yes;  you  should. 

COLUMBUS.     There  certainly  is  elsewhere  enter 
prise 

With  honesty.     I  think  that  I  should  try 
The  court  of  England.     You  have  seen  their 

men: — 

White  skinned,  the  spirit  just  behind  the  face, 
Their  very  faults  the  proof  they  are  not  false; 
Too  impudent  for  truthlessness,  too  bold 
To  stab  behind  one's  back,  too  proud  of  push 
To  trip  with  little  tricks,  too  fond  of  sport 
To  keep  one  down,  when  down. 
BARTHOLOMEW.  Why,  I  might  go  there. 

COLUMBUS.     You  might  and  would,    Bartholo 
mew? 
BARTHOLOMEW.  I  will. 

Enter— Right— the  MAID. 
COLUMBUS  (to  MAID).     A  visitor? 
MAID.  A  message  from  the  king. 

DIEGO.     We  thought  it  coming.     Now  you  are 

prepared. 
COLUMBUS.     My  soul  demands  in  one  whom  I 

obey 

A  moral  equal,  at  the  least.     It  comes 
In  vain,     (to  the  MAID.) 
And  messengers  ? 
MAID.  Yes. 


COLUMBUS.  179 

COLUMBUS.  Show  them  in. 

Exit — Right — MAID.  The  eyes  of  COLUM 
BUS  follow  her,  and  look  through  the 
door,  which  she  leaves  ajar. 
Breviesca?     He  alone  makes  both  of  them 
Birds  of  most  evil  omen. 

Enter — Right — BREVIESCA,   a   COMPANION,   and 
the  MAID,  who  exits  at  the  Left.     All  bow. 

Gentlemen  ? — 
And  will  you  sit? 

(He  motions  towards  seats.     Their  manner 
indicates    refusal,    and    they    remain 
standing.) 
BREVIESCA.  I  thank  you,  no.     The  king 

Sends  here  requesting  you  to  visit  him. 
COLUMBUS.     Requesting  me  to  visit  him ?     For 

what? 
BREVIESCA.     Your  charts. — He  would  examine 

them  with  you. 
COLUMBUS.     With  what  intent  ? 

BREVIESCA.  To  satisfy  you 

COLUMBUS.  Me? 

[Why,  I  am  satisfied  remaining  here. 
BREVIESCA.     But  he  demands  your  presence. 
COLUMBUS.  He  demands? 

Ah,  not  for  my  sake, — but  for  his,  you  come.] 
He  sends  me  then  the  means  with  which  to  go  ? 
BREVIESCA.     How  so? 
COLUMBUS.         The  money  ?  or  conveyance  ? 


l8o  COLUMBUS. 

BREVIESCA.  What? 

COLUMBUS.     I  need  the  one  or  other. 
DIEGO.  Certainly. 

BREVIESCA.     But  when  the  king  demands 

COLUMBUS  (in  a  hesitating  way) .   He  promised  me 

A  sum  of  money  for  my  charts.     I  thought — 
BREVIESCA.     You  dare  dispute  the  royal  will? 
COLUMBUS.  I  dare 

Do  nothing  to  impugn  the  royal  honor. 

Enter — Left — the  MAID,  evidently  in  distress. 
MAID.     My  master? 
COLUMBUS.  Why,  what  is  it? 

MAID.  She — seems — dying. 

COLUMBUS.     What,  what?  my  wife? 

(He  starts  for  the  door  at  the  Left — BREVIESCA 

makes  a  gesture  of  disapproval.) 
BREVIESCA.  Give  us  your  answer  first. 

COLUMBUS.     You  press  this  now? 
BREVIESCA.  We  represent  the  king. 

Do  you  forget  that  he  must  be  supreme  ? 
COLUMBUS.     I  do  in  presence  of  a  Higher  King. 

Oh,  what  has  happened? 

Exeunt — Left — COLUMBUS    and    the    MAID. 
BREVIESCA   (bowing  sarcastically  to  DIEGO  and 
BARTHOLOMEW).     What  we  shall  report. 

Exeunt — Right — BREVIESCA    and    his    COM 
PANION. 
[BARTHOLOMEW  (starting  to  call  BREVIESCA  back). 

Ah,  Diego,  if  the  king  excuse  this  yet 


COLUMBUS.  l8l 

DIEGO.     His  creditors  who  hear  of  it  will  not. 

(pointing  toward  the  Left.) 
If  she  be  flown,  I  fear  we  all  must  fly. 
BARTHOLOMEW.     But  why  should  he  so  suffer ! — 

I  half  think 

In  truth  to  spirit  there  is  that  which  makes 
All  earth  its  enemy. 
DIEGO.  Yet  conquers  it. 

Exeunt — Right — BARTHOLOMEW  and  DIEGO.] 


CURTAIN.     END  OF  ACT  I. 


ACT  SECOND. 

SCENE  FIRST  : — A  Spanish  camp  by  night,  lighted 
up  by  distant  camp-fires.  Backing  at  the  Left 
a  gateway  into  a  plaza  reserved  for  royalty. 
At  the  Right,  the  tent  of  COLUMBUS,  its  curtains 
drawn  aside  revealing  a  cot  or  lounge  on  which 
two  or  more  can  sit,  also  a  chair  or  two.  Just 
outside  the  same  tent  on  the  side  toward  the  center 
of  the  stage  is  a  log  on  which  two  or  more  can  sit. 
To  the  Left  of  the  stage  are  trees.  Entrances 
at  the  Left  Center  through  the  royal  gateway;  at 
the  Right,  behind  the  tent  of  COLUMBUS;  also 
through  his  tent  and  between  his  tent  and  the 
audience;  and  at  the  Left,  Rear  and  Front, 
through  trees. 

Enter — Right,  from  behind  the  tent  of  Columbus 
— a  MOOR  with  a  COMPANION. 

[MooR  (to  his  COMPANION).    Darkness  for  deeds 

of  darkness!         Thank  the  stars, 
We  well  nigh  touch  the  queen's  pavilion; yet 
In  all  this  Christian  camp,  blood-red  as  life, 
Not   one   suspects   the    Moor — this   heathen 
worm 

182 


COLUMBUS.  183 

Who  wriggles  toward  its  core.     Her  tent! — 

steal  in ! 
(addressing  his  steel  dirk  as  he  looks  at  it,  then 

lifts  it  upward.) 

Be  that  our  motto:  Steel  in,  till  we  start. 
The  spirit  of  the  queen,  steel  it  away ! 
Hark! — some  one  comes  here.     Let  us  hide. — 
Aha! 

(looks  around,  then  apparently  the  two  hide 
in  the  folds  of  the  canvas  at  the  Back 
of  the  tent  of  COLUMBUS.) 
Convenient  folds  these! — Thank  you,  Chris 
tian  friends.] 
Enter — Left-Rear — a    SENTRY,    and    guards    the 

gateway. 
Exeunt — Right — behind  the  tent  of  COLUMBUS — 

the  MOOR    and    his    COMPANION. 
Enter — Right — through     this     tent,     DIEGO     and 

COLUMBUS,  dressed  as  a  soldier. 
(The  two  are  at  first  inside  the  tent  ;  but,  as 
they  talk,  they  gradually  come  out  onto 
the  stage  in  front  of  it.) 
COLUMBUS.     Have    heard    from    England    and 

Bartholomew? 
DIEGO.     I  have. 
COLUMBUS.         He  had  success? 
DIEGO.  They   thought   us 

fools. 
And  how  fared  you  in  Genoa  and  Venice? 


1 84  COLUMBUS. 

COLUMBUS.     They  knew  we  were.     I  half  be 
lieve  that  flight 

Was  all  that  saved  me  from  a  mad-house.    [Oh, 
The  world  plays  tyrant  to  the  soul  would 

serve  it. 

It  treats  him  like  a  female  relative 
Whose  drudgery  is  deemed  supremely  paid 
By  her  own  love.      But  when  the  wage  one 

wants 

Is  not  within  one,  love  is  never  paid.] 
DIEGO.     Yes,  yes ;  I  fear  that  we  must  give  it  up. 
COLUMBUS.     My  voyage? 
DIEGO.  Yes. 

COLUMBUS.  Not  till  I  die;  and  that 

I  will  do  soon  as  hope  dies  out  of  me. 
DIEGO.     You  have  enlisted? 
COLUMBUS.  It  will  help  me  on. 

Men  judge  of  us  by  standards  in  themselves ; 
And  so  like  us  when  they  see  us  like  them. 
Kings  take  to  tales,  too,  writ  with  points  like 

this— 

(pointing,  with  a  gesture,  to  his  sword.) 
To  underscore  "your  humble  servant"  when 
He  signs  requests. 

Enter — Left — two  young  OFFICERS.  They 
stand  looking  at  COLUMBUS  and 
DIEGO,  making  signs  to  indicate  that 
they  consider  COLUMBUS  out  of  his 
mind.  COLUMBUS  notices  them. 


COLUMBUS.  185 

DIEGO.  And  have  you  met   the  king? 

COLUMBUS.     Am  waiting  for  a  chance 

DIEGO.  It  promises? 

What  seem  your  prospects? 
COLUMBUS  (pointing  to  the  officers). 

Watch  those  men  and  see. 
We   ape   sign-language   here.     Theirs   means 

"Columbus." 

The  women,  children,  all  have  learned  it,  too. 
And  point  it  now  and  then  with  exclamations. 
DIEGO    (glancing  angrily  at  the  men).     Outra 
geous!     I  will  stop  them. 
COLUMBUS  (staying  him  with  his  hand).     Why, 

what  use? 

Far  better  have  men  point  at  us  and  laugh, 
Than  never  have  them  point  to  us  at  all. 
DIEGO.     Do  you  say  this,  who  were  so  sensitive, 
High-spirited? 

Exeunt — Left — OFFICERS. 

COLUMBUS.  One  may  have  so  much  sense 

It  holds  the  spirit  down.     Besides,  our  spheres 
Are   stagnant    and   need   movement.     Make 

men  take 

You  gravely  if  you  can;  if  not,  what  though 
They    laugh?     You    move    them    that    way. 

There  are  times 

The  tiniest  tinklings  that  can  tap  the  air 
Ring  up  life's  curtain  for  its  grandest  acts. 
DIEGO.     You  talk  as  if  all  friends  were  lost. 


1 86  COLUMBUS. 

COLUMBUS.  Nay,  light, 

It  trails  the  shadow.     It  is  those  with  friends 
Are  sure  of  foes ;  and  only  those  with  neither 
Are  sure  of  neither. 

DIEGO.  Then  you  have  friends? 

COLUMBUS.  Yes. 

DIEGO.     What  class  of  people? 

COLUMBUS.  Oh,  both  Dukes  and  Dons; 

And,  to  make  life  complete,  at  least  one  woman. 

DIEGO.     Aha! 

COLUMBUS.     The  image  of  my  lost  Felipa. 

DIEGO.     You  mean  to  marry  her? 

[COLUMBUS.  Had  I  the  wish 

I  could  not  have  the  will.     Her  family 
Are  not  agreeable 

DIEGO.  To  you? 

COLUMBUS.  To  her, 

When  seen  with  me ;  and — well ! — enough 
For  one  man  to  have  sacrificed  one  woman 
To  appease  what  he  esteems  as  God. 

DIEGO.  How  so? 

COLUMBUS.     A  woman  craves  attention  and  a 

home. 

Her  lover's  mission,  let  it  oft  withdraw 
His  ear  or  sphere  from  her,  seems  then  her  rival. 

DIEGO.     It  would  not,  did  she  love  the  man's 
true  self. 

COLUMBUS.     Perhaps, — and   yet   the   kinds   of 
love  men  feel 


/ 
COLUMBUS.  187 

For  mistress  and  for  mission  are  so  like! 


What,  if  behind  the  mission's  love  should  be 

Some  sentient  spirit  too  in  realms  unseen? 

These  women  may  be  right.     They  may  have 
rivals. 

But  what  Felipa  felt  I  could  not  help. 

Yet  may  avoid  its  repetition. 
DIEGO  (doubtfully) .  Humph !] 

COLUMBUS.     This  one  is  but  a  sister,  name  more 
sacred 

Than  wife,  I  think,  as  wives  go  now. 
DIEGO.  She  thinks 

This  too? 

COLUMBUS.     She  should,  and  you? 
DIEGO.  I  think,  perhaps, 

You  ought  to  marry. 
COLUMBUS.  Oh  no!  I  have  vowed 

Religiously — 
DIEGO.  And  might  not  be  the  first 

Religion  led  astray, 

[COLUMBUS.  Astray!  how  so? 

DIEGO.     A  brotherly  or  sisterly  regard 

Grows  up  from  family  relationship. 

Train  boys  and  girls  together,  side  by  side, 

As  in  one  loyal  household,  holding  all 

Humanity,  and  then,   perchance,  may  love's 
dishonor 

Seem  foul  as  incest,  and  imperilers  of  it, 

No  longer  vehicles  of  life  humane. 


1 88  COLUMBUS. 

•    Unsouled  of  self-control,  all  flag  themselves 
The  death-trucks  that  they  are,   and  make 

health  scud 
From  their  contagion  as  from  carrion. 

COLUMBUS.     You  mean 

DIEGO.  The  young  are  not  so  trained  in  Spain — 
Not  schooled  to  know  each  other,  soul  by  soul ; 
And  nothing  but  the  soul  can  outweigh  sense. 

COLUMBUS.     In  general,  true! — but  she 

DIEGO.  Our  lives  reflect 

The   light   of   our   surroundings.     What   are 

here  ? — 

Accursed  customs  that  mistrust  the  soul, 
Ay,  robe  its  every  feature  in  their  rags, 
Draped  all  to  hint  unshapeliness  beneath. 
Away  with  earthly  habits  that  can  hide 
God's  image  framed  within !] 

Enter — Left — the    MONK,   JUAN    PEREZ, 
another  MONK,  the  officer  SANCHEZ, 
and  several  SOLDIERS. 
COLUMBUS   (looking  toward  the  MONK).     Why, 

who  are  these? 
PEREZ  (to  COLUMBUS). 

God  greet  you  friends. 

COLUMBUS.  His  messengers  are  welcome. 

PEREZ.     And  doubly  so  if  from  Jerusalem? 
COLUMBUS.     The  holy  city? 
PEREZ.  Yes.     The  grand  Soldan 

Of  Egypt  sent  us. 


COLUMBUS.  189 

COLUMBUS.  With  a  message? 

PEREZ.  Yes. 

He  vows,  in  case  the  Spaniard  will  not  stay 
This  war  against  the  Moor,  to  rouse  the  East, 
Pull  down  all  Christian  churches,  and  beneath 
Entomb  their  worshipers. 

COLUMBUS.  He  thinks  this  threat 

Will  influence  Ferdinand? 

SANCHEZ.  It  should  not. 

SOLDIER.  No. 

COLUMBUS.     But  must  the  faithful  suffer? 

PEREZ.  They  do  now. 

At  each  pretext  oppressed,  reviled,  and  robbed 
Of  property  and  freedom,  flayed  and  hung, 
And  heaven  knows  what;  for  it  gets  most  of 
them. 

[SANCHEZ.     That  should  not  be. 

PEREZ.  Ah,  when  what  should  be  is, 

What  is  will  be  beyond  this  earth. 

SANCHEZ.  When  once 

Old  Spain's  white  line  of  ships  have  tailed  for 

good 

This  flying  kite  here  of  the  Moor,  and  cleared 
The  blue  about  us,  there  should  rest  no  ship 
Not  steered  to  right  our  brethren  there. 

SOLDIER.  Not  one. 

PEREZ  (to  SANCHEZ).     Would  you  go? 

SANCHEZ.  Ay,  I  would. 

PEREZ.  The  time  may  come 


190  COLUMBUS. 

SANCHEZ  (to  SOLDIERS). 

Meanwhile,   the  Moor!     Now,  to  your  sta 
tions —  march.] 

Exeunt — Left — SANCHEZ  and  SOLDIERS. 
DIEGO   (glancing  at  the  MONKS,  and  speaking 

aside  to  COLUMBUS). 
They  seek  the  king — might  speak  for  you,  not 

so? 
COLUMBUS  (to  DIEGO).    They  might. 

(To  the  MONKS.)     Would  you  not  rest  with 

us  to-night  ? 
PEREZ.     We  thank  you — and  your  name? 

(The  MONKS  and  DIEGO,  as  COLUMBUS 
gestures  to  them,  enter  the  tent  of 
COLUMBUS  and  sit.  COLUMBUS  sits 
on  the  log  to  the  left  of  his  tent  with 
his  back  to  the  rear.} 
COLUMBUS.  Columbus. 

PEREZ.  Oh! 

Have  heard  of  you. 
COLUMBUS.  Heard  good? 

PEREZ.  Why — 

COLUMBUS.  Ah,  have  not. 

I  understand.     The  silence  of  the  good 
Damns  more  than  bad  men's  curses.     Yet 

my  aims 
Are  one  with  yours — to  speed  the  truth  to 

all. 
But  "all"  means  more  than  most  men  deem. 


COLUMBUS.  191 

PEREZ.  The  wise 

Aim  not  beyond  their  reach. 
COLUMBUS.  The  faithful  aim 

Wherever  they  are  called. 
PEREZ.  You  heard  the  call 

Just  made  ? 

COLUMBUS.     And  not  a  breast  could  out-thrill 
mine 

With  indignation  at  the  tale. 
PEREZ.  It  failed 

To  stir  your  lip  to  pledges. 
COLUMBUS.  When  heaven  crowns 

My  present  plan 

PEREZ.  You  will  be  like  your  mates, — 

Ennobled,  rich,  and  found  a  family. 
COLUMBUS.     My  western  mission  is  for  Christ 
alone. 

Pray  heaven  with  me  that  I  fulfill  it;  then 

I  vow  to  live  a  life  like  yours,  and  more — 

To  give  it  to  this  Eastern  mission.     See — 
(drawing  his  sword  and  showing  the  cross  form 
ing  its  hilt.} 

This  cross — it  aims  the  sword  I  wield! — will 
find 

No  final  rest,  till  waved  above  the  crescent. 
PEREZ.     You  seem  a  holy  man. 
COLUMBUS.  Nay,  none  is  that. 

When    men    seem    holy    do    not    think   of 
them, 


192  COLUMBUS. 

But  of  the  cause  that  has  affected  them. 

Exit — Left  Rear — the  SENTRY  guarding  the 

gateway,  apparently  called  away. 
Enter — Left    Center,  from   the   gateway — 
BEATRIX.  She  comes  forward  stealthily 
and  touches  COLUMBUS  on  his  back, 
then  withdraws  toward  the  Right  Rear, 
behind  his  tent. 
(COLUMBUS  rises,  looking  back  and  around  as  if 

for  BEATRIX.) 
PEREZ  (to  the  other  MONK).     He  seems  inspired 

by  purposes  well  worth 
Regard. 
COLUMBUS  (to  DIEGO).      Diego,  will  you  guide 

our  friends 

Across  the  pathway  to  our  other  tent? — 
One  waits  here  who  has  business  with  me. 
Exeunt — Right — through  the  tent  of  COLUM 
BUS,  DIEGO  and  the  two  MONKS. 
Enter — Right — from    behind    the  same    tent, 

BEATRIX 

COLUMBUS.     You,     Beatrix?    and    here? — this 
time  of  night? 

[Have  you  forgot  ?     Your  father 

BEATRIX.  Is  a  bird, 

Flown  southward,  wrong,  forgetting  for  a  time 
The  winter  whence  it  fled? 

COLUMBUS.  But  there  are  ways 1 

BEATRIX.     I  am  not  welcome  then? 


COLUMBUS.  193 

COLUMBUS.  Oh  no — not  that — 

[But  unexpected. 
BEATRIX.  I  have  heard  you  say 

Good  fortune  would  be  so. 
COLUMBUS.  You  bring  it,  then?] 

BEATRIX.     One  door  ajar  to  it.     These  worthy 
friars, 

Just  in  your  tent,  I  hear,  will  see  the  king. 

They  might  commend  you. 
COLUMBUS.  Yes,  I  thank  you. 

BEATRIX.  Well? 

COLUMBUS.     More? 
BEATRIX.  You  seem  cold. 

COLUMBUS.  The  night  is. 

BEATRIX.  I  am  not. 

COLUMBUS.     No,  no,  forgive  me. 
BEATRIX.  I  have  more  to  say. 

The  Dona  Bobadilla 

COLUMBUS.  Your  old  foe? 

BEATRIX.     New  friend;  for  your  sake  made  and 
kept  a  friend 

[By  courtesies  limbering  my  stiff  limbs  of  pride 

Till  limp  and  limping  as  humility. 

COLUMBUS.     But  really 

BEATRIX.  Really,  when  one's  inward  sense 

Of  mastership  outweighs  an  outward  show 

Of  servitude,  why,  one  but  serves  herself.] 

This  Dona  Bobadilla  has  in  view 

To  urge  your  claims  upon  the  queen. 

13 


194  COLUMBUS. 

COLUMBUS.  She  has? — 

What  is  it  makes  a  woman  serve  as  you 
A  mere  enthusiast  without  success? 
BEATRIX.     No  need  were  there  to  serve  one  with 
success. 

COLUMBUS.     But  failure 

BEATRIX.  Shows  a  spirit  as  it  is. 

It  throws  one's  manhood  into  full  relief, 
Stript  of  all  circumstance  and  accident. 
COLUMBUS.     This   heart   of  mine   were  heavy 

were  it  not 

Made  light  and  bright  by  eyes  that  can  detect, 
Beneath  all  veils  disguising  what  it  is, 
Its  one  sole  virtue. — You  forget  that  all 
The  world  is  full  of  brains,  and  all  the  brains 
Of  whims,  and  all  that  gives  the  whims  more 

worth 

Than   blood  that   churns  them  up   to   con 
sciousness, 

Is  that  they  leave  the  brain  and  live  in  deeds. 
Mine  have  not  done  this  yet. 
BEATRIX  (sitting  on  the  log  to  the  left  of  the  tent 
of  Columbus,  and  in  doing  so,  letting  the 
shawl    that   she  has  worn  fall  from  her 
on  to  the  ground  behind  the  log.     Colum 
bus  stands  at  the  right,  and  after  a  little 
while  sits  beside  her). 

The  deed  that  best 
Proves  each  man's  workmanship  is  what  he  is. 


COLUMBUS.  195 

If  God  be  the  eternal,  he  who  shows 

Eternal  perseverance  falls  not  far 

From  fellow-craft  with  Him. 
COLUMBUS.  You,  like  a  myth, 

Are  not  inspired,  but  yet  inspiring;  not 

Religion,  but  could  make  a  man  religious. 
BEATRIX.     You  speak  in  figures. 
COLUMBUS.  We  all  live  in  them. 

BEATRIX.     What  then? 

COLUMBUS.  Why,  they  are  beautiful. 

BEATRIX.  And  this 

Gives  life  its  beauty? 
COLUMBUS.  Ay,  and  interest. 

For  every  time  a  spirit  veiled  in  them 

Reveals  itself,  why,  it  anticipates 

The  resurrection  of  the  soul,  not  so? 

And  that  brings  heaven. 

BEATRIX.  Then  to  reveal  myself 

COLUMBUS.     Is  very  much  in  such  a  world  as 
this— 

When  owning  so  much  that  is  worth  revealing. 
BEATRIX.     You  jest. 
COLUMBUS.     I  am  in  earnest.     When  one  needs 

More  strength  of  spirit,  nothing  save  a  spirit 

Can    ever    give    it.      You    have    given    me 

yours. 

BEATRIX.     In  truth  I  have.     Not  seldom  I  have 
thought 

That  I  could  lose  my  soul  to  give  it  you. 


196  COLUMBUS. 

COLUMBUS.     Thank  God,  a  brother's  love  need 

not  accept 
The  sacrifice. — But — should  we  linger  here  ? 

Your 

BEATRIX.     Well? 

COLUMBUS.         Your  relatives — 

BEATRIX.  Of  flesh,  or  soul? 

I  care  but  for  the  latter.     You 

COLUMBUS.  But  yet 

Their  reasons  are  the  world's.     We  live  in 

Spain. 
You  are — 

BEATRIX.  A  virgin,  yes,  but  were  I  the 

COLUMBUS.     Do  not  say  that— 

BEATRIX.  I  could  imagine  times 

When  one  I  know  would  seem  divine. 
COLUMBUS.  Wait,  wait!— 

How  near  together  heaven  and  hell  may  be ! 
BEATRIX.     Yes;  only  earth  and  earthly  thinking 

make 

It  possible  for  sense  to  deem  them  two. 
Throne  God  in  hell,  all  heaven  would  burst  the 

gates 

And  dream  of  blessed  rest,  though  every  foot 
Were  sea'd  upon  a  prostrate  seething  devil. 
Enter — Right — from  behind  Columbus'  tent 
— the  MOOR.     He  looks  at  COLUMBUS 
and    BEATRIX    then    begins    to    draw 
toward    himself   her    shawl    that    lies 


COLUMBUS.  197 

on  the  ground  behind  her.  COLUMBUS 
looks  back.  The  MOOR  draws  away 
and  wraps  the  shawl  about  himself. 
COLUMBUS  rises.) 

BEATRIX.     Some  one  was  listening? 
COLUMBUS.  Yes — keep  still. 

Exit — Left  Center — through  the  gateway — 
the  MOOR.     COLUMBUS  sees  him. 

I  see 
A  form.     It  disappeared   there   through   the 

gate. 

BEATRIX.     My  shawl  on? 
COLUMBUS.  Yes. 

BEATRIX.  Why,  all  the  ladies'  tents — 

The  queen's — are  reached  through  that.     I 

follow. 

COLUMBUS.  No — 

A  thief, — assassin,  may  be.     No,  let  me — 

(advancing  toward  the  gateway.} 
BEATRIX    (stopping  him}.     Be   thought   a   cul 
prit  ? — never ! 

COLUMBUS  (handing  her  a  dirk.}     Then  take  this, 
And  call  me.     I  will  keep  in  hearing. — God! 
I  cannot  bear  to  let  you  go. 
BEATRIX.  I  must. 

Exit — Left  Center — through  the  gateway — 

BEATRIX  with  the  dirk  in  hand. 
Enter — Right — through      COLUMBUS'      tent — 
DIEGO. 


COLUMBUS. 

COLUMBUS  (to  DIEGO).     You  must  have  over 
heard? 

DIEGO.  I  did— in  part. 

[COLUMBUS.     How   brave   in   her!    Yet   what 

could  one  expect ! 

How  brave  in  her  to  let  me  know  her  love ! 
And  what  unnatural,  unmanned  man  am  I, 
Who  does  not,  will  not  dare,  return  it  her! 
Strange    mixture   life  is    of    the    right    and 

wrong ! 
Should  one  be  good,  or  kind?  and  which  is 

which  ? 
How  much  that  seems  in  line  for  both  is 

but 

A  ray  that  falls  to  form  a  pathway  here 
From  the  rent  forms  of  clouds  beyond  our 

reach 

Which,  while  they  let  the  light  in,  bring  the 
storm !] 

(Distant  Voices  are  heard  calling.) 
Hark,  hark!— What  is  it  that  they  call?— 
D i STANT  VOICE  .  A  M oor ! 

COLUMBUS.     (Shouting)    A  Moor!     (to  DIEGO) 

You  rouse  the  Camp ! 

Exit — Left     Center — through     the    gateway — 
COLUMBUS. 

Enter — Left  Rear — the  SENTRY. 
DIEGO   (shouting).     A  Moor!    A  Moor! 
Exit— Left— DIEGO. 


COLUMBUS.  199 

Enter — Left  Front — and  Exeunt — Left  Center, 
through  the  gateway — SANCHEZ  and  SOL 
DIERS. 
VOICES  (from  within  the  gateway). 

Ay,  ay,  take  this  and  that. 
Enter— from  the  Gateway — SANCHEZ,  COLUMBUS, 

and  SOLDIERS  dragging  the  MOOR. 
SANCHEZ.  Here — drag  him  out! 

Is  dead  already — Humph ! — is  limp  enough 
To  make  a  rug  of !    Let  him  lie ! 
Enter — Left    Rear — other    SOLDIERS,    the    officer 

GUTIERREZ  and  the  KING. 
GUTIERREZ.  The    King. 

(All  salute.     The  KING  looks  at  the  MOOR.) 
KING.     Who  is  he? 
SANCHEZ.          An  assassin — sought  the  queen — 

Got  by  the  guard. 

KING.  He  did  not  reach  her? 

SANCHEZ.  No. 

(pointing  to  COLUMBUS). 
Well  nigh !     He  tracked  him  in,  and  thwarted 

him. 

KING  (to  COLUMBUS).        Ay,  ay!    Your  name? 
COLUMBUS.  Columbus. 

KING  (to  all).  Now  to  rest. 

(to  COLUMBUS.) 
But  you  may  come  with  me — Would  see  you 

further. 
Exeunt — Left  Center — through  the  gateway — 


200  COLUMBUS. 

KING,  GUTIERREZ,  and  COLUMBUS. 
Exeunt  at  other  entrances,  all  except  the 
SENTRY. 

CURTAIN 

SCENE  SECOND. — Council  Chamber  in  the  Do 
minican  Convent  of  St.  Stephen  at  Salamanca. 
Wood  paneling  in  ceiling  and  walls.  A  long 
table  in  the  Rear  with  chairs  beside  it  and  at 
the  rear.  Entrances  at  the  Right  and  Left. 
Enter — Left — ZALORA  and  FERNANDEZ. 

FERNANDEZ.     All  here? 

ZALORA.         Oh  yes.     One  must  obey  the  king. 

FERNANDEZ.     He  must  suppose  the  times  ahead 
are  dark. 

ZALORA.    How  so? 

FERNANDEZ.  In  giving  us  this  pastime  here. 

ZALORA.     We  have  our  holy  days  and  holidays. 
I  sometimes  wonder  which  are  holier. 

FERNANDEZ.     What,  what!  and  you  a  priest? 

ZALORA.  An  old  one — yes. 

Like  other  earthly  things,  our  lives  move  on 
Half  light,  half  shadow,  and  with  me 
The  shadows  came  in  youth. 

FERNANDEZ.  Your  brilliancy 

Developed  late,  eh?  like  a  day  when  foggy — 
Or  lightning  from  a  cloud.     But  you  are  right. 
This  life  is  like  a  bladder-air-ball.     If 
You  press  its  youth-side  in,  you,  by-and-by, 


COLUMBUS.  201 

Will   bulge  its  age-side  out;   and,  say,  does 

that 
Make  preachers,  eh  ?  sensational  ?     You  should 

know. 

ZALORA.     You  think  sensations  are  acquired? 
Enter — Right — ST.   ANGEL  and  PEREZ  and  ex 
change  greetings  with  FERNANDEZ  and  ZALORA. 
FERNANDEZ.  I   know 

A  soul  that  squeals  well,  is  a  soul  well  squeezed. 
Sensation  is  the  stepson  of  depression. 

You  step  on 

ZALORA.         Oh,  go  to! — that  spoils  the  form. 

ST.  ANGEL.     What  form? 

FERNANDEZ  (to  ST.  ANGEL).     Why,  of  a  ball. 

(To  ZALORA)   Not  so?— Tell  why 
These  balls — our  children's  balls — are  like  a 

bishop. 
PEREZ  (laughing  and  pointing  to  ZALORA). 

Because,  like  him,  they  usually  are  round  ? 
ST.  ANGEL.     And  sometimes,  though  not  always, 

holy,  eh? 
ZALORA  (good-naturedly) . 

Why  point  your  wit  with  personality? 
ST.    ANGEL.     Oh    never,    when   the   person    is 

around. 

But  now  the  child's  ball? — 
FERNANDEZ.  Why,  the  bawl  is  made 

(brings  his  hands  down  as  if  ordaining,  and  also 
striking  a  blow.) 


202  COLUMBUS. 

By  laying  on  of  hands. 

(All  laugh.} 

Enter — Right — MENDOZA  and  TALAVERA. 
Enter — Left — ARANA,  FONSECA,  BREVIESCA 
and  others.     All  in,  or  entering,  the 
hall  exchange  greetings. 
TALAVERA   (to  FERNANDEZ).    What  were  you 

doing? 

FERNANDEZ.     Our   duty   here — ordaining   non 
sense.     [You 

Should  know.     You  sent  for  us. 
ZALORA.  And  why  for  me? 

Am  I  an  expert  on  insanity? 
FERNANDEZ  (to  ZALORA).     Oh  no,  your  place  is 

on  beyond  that. 

ZALORA.  How? 

FERNANDEZ.     Beyond  an  #pert  is  a  y-z-pert. 
ZALORA.     Quite  low  down  in  the  alphabet  of 

wit! 
FERNANDEZ.     I    know — the    last    of    it — just 

where  you  shoe  it. 
FONSECA  (to  ARANA  in  another  part  of  the  hall). 

But  think — the  danger. 
ARANA.  He  will  never  sail ! 

FONSECA.     Not  that  I  mean,  but  in  his  theories. 

You  know  they  contradict  the  church. 
ARANA.  If  this 

Be  true — 
FONSECA.     It  is, — is  very  serious. 


COLUMBUS.  203 

FERNANDEZ  (to  FONSECA). 

And  what  of  that?     I  say  the  best  of  physics 
For  seriousness  is  laughter.     Where  is  bile, 
Well  tickled  throats  will  throw  it  up. 
FONSECA.  To  fool 

With  fools  is  feeding  folly. 
FERNANDEZ.  Feed  a  fool 

On  folly,  and  he  grows  so  fat,  you  think, 
That  soon  all  wisdom's  world  that  he  would 

sit  on, 
Would    it    not    die    itself,   must   make    him 

diet? 

FONSECA.     Oh,  cease  your  jesting! 
FERNANDEZ.  To  have  gravity, 

We  ought  to  have  grave  work  to  do. 
FONSECA.  We  have, 

As  a  commission  sitting  on  Columbus.] 

All  begin  to  take  places  around  the  table, 
though  not  yet  to  sit.   TALAVERA  goes  to 
the  central  seat  behind  it,  MENDOZA 
to  his  right,  and  ST.  ANGEL  and  PEREZ 
to  the  right  of  MENDOZA.     FONSECA, 
BREVIESCA,    ARANA,     ZALORA    and 
FERNANDEZ  are  at  TALAVERA 's  Left. 
Others  go  where  there  are  places. 
[FERNANDEZ.       (aside    to  ZALORA   alone.)     He 
thinks  an  old  hen,  even,  doing  that, 
Should  hatch  out  something. 
ZALORA.  Wait  now.     You  will  find 


204  COLUMBUS. 

Enough  old  hens  here  to  bring  forth,  at  least, 
What  they  will  think  worth  while  their 

cackling  over. 

ST.  ANGEL  (who  overhears  ZALORA,  to  PEREZ). 
Instead  of  hens,  I  think  that  I  should  call 

them 

Birds  of  another's  feather — birds  of  prey. 
PEREZ.  In  praying  they  do  priest's  work. 
ST.  ANGEL.  Yes;  in  that — 

And  making  mortals  humble.  One  with  aught 
To  plume  himself  on,  will  not  go  unplucked. 
But  see — the  victim.] 

Enter — Right — COLUMBUS. 
TALAVERA  (to  those  in  the  chamber). 

Friends,  the  Mariner. 
(to  COLUMBUS  and  all.} 
I  think  that  you  have  met  before. 
(COLUMBUS  and  all  exchange  greetings.) 

[And  now 
We  get  to  work.] 

The    others    sit.     TALAVERA    motions    to 
COLUMBUS  to  do  the  same,  which  he 
does  at  the  extreme  Right. 
[Where  thought  appeals  to  thought, 
The  only  sovereign  is  the  wisest  word, 
Which    sometimes    is    the    last  word; — any 

way, 

Is  always  of  the  spirit,  and  needs  not 
Accoutrements  and  courtesies  of  form 


COLUMBUS.  205 

To  prove  its  prestige.     We  can  waive  them, 
then, 

And  let  the  spirit  prompt  us  as  it  may.] 
(turning  to  COLUMBUS.) 

They  say  you  wish  to  have  a  fleet  and  men, 

And  outfit,  too,  involving  much  expense. 

What  reasons  have  you? 
COLUMBUS.  To  extend  the  sway 

Of  Spain  and  Christianity  in  lands 

Where  now  they  are  not  known. 
TALAVERA.  That  wish  is  ours. 

What    proof   have    you,    though,    that   these 

lands  exist  ? 
COLUMBUS.     Reports  of  mariners — authority — 

The  nature  of  the  world. 
TALAVERA.  Do  these  off-set 

The  dangers  ? 

COLUMBUS.         WThichones? 
ARANA.  Like  the  boiling  waves 

Of  Africa,  and  giants  on  the  shores. 
COLUMBUS.     Mere  fables,  all!     Why,  I  myself 
have  sailed 

To  Guinea,  past  where  these  were  said  to  be. 

[And  have  you  never  heard  of  Eudoxus 

Of  Cyzicus,  who  left  Arabia 

And  reached  Gibraltar!  how  too  from  Gibral 
tar 

The  Carthaginian  Hanno,  sailing  back, 

Came  to  Arabia? 


206  COLUMBUS. 

FONSECA.  All  pagan  lies ! 

COLUMBUS.     A     statement    that     confutes    a 
general  faith 

At  risk  of  reputation ;  yet  meantime 

Confirms  our  natural  reasoning,  seldom  lies. 

Who  would  have  said  this,  had  it  not  been 
true? 

Yet  that  it  should  be,  what  more  natural? 
ZALORA.     But  sailing  east  is  not  the  same  as 

west. 
COLUMBUS.     Enough  is  known  to  warrant  even 

that. 

FERNANDEZ.     St.  Brandan  and  the  seven  cities, 
yes! 

But  these  have  always  melted  into  clouds 

To  those  who  sought  them. 
COLUMBUS.     Other  lands  are  told  of. 
MENDOZA.     Atlantis,  eh? 
COLUMBUS.  Yes,  and  Antilla  too, 

Well  known  to  Carthage,  Aristotle  says. 

And  many  a  modern  vessel  has  been  driven 

Where  shores  have  been  descried  by  accident 

And  other  signs  of 

FONSECA.  Desert  islands. 

COLUMBUS.  No.] 

Vicenti,  twenty  score  of  leagues  beyond 

The  Cape  St.  Vincent,  came  on  floating  wood 

Carved  by  men's  hands. 
ZALORA.  Ay,  from  some  other  ship. 


COLUMBUS.  207 

COLUMBUS.     Then  lost  in  many  places.     Wood 

carved  thus 

Was  found  by  my  own  brother-in-law,  Correo. 
And  plants  and  trees  too  drift  thus  from  the 
west. 

FONSECA.     Washed  there,  washed  back. 

COLUMBUS.  No,  different  in  kind 

From  any  in  the  East.  They  found  besides 
Two  men's  forms  cast  upon  the  isle  of  Flores, 
With  features  not  at  all  like  people  here. 

ARANA.     And  what  of  that? 

COLUMBUS.  The  men — not  only  they — 

The  trees,  the  plants,  were  like  in  kind  to  those 
Described  by  Polo  and  by  Mandeville 
As  found  in  those  great  lands  of  Gengis  Khan 
And  Prester  John,  far  in  the  Indies. 

ARANA.  They 

Were  east,  not  west. 

COLUMBUS.  Just  so,  both  east  and  west. 

FERNANDEZ  .     What ,  what  ? 

BREVIESCA  (to  FERNANDEZ).     You  see 

COLUMBUS.  It  seems  a  contradiction. 

It  could  not,  did  you  think  the  world  were 
round. 

[FONSECA  (laughing).     No,  never,  no! 

ARANA.  No,  never! 

ZALORA  (to  COLUMBUS  sarcastically).     You  are 
right. 

COLUMBUS.     There  is  authority  for  thinking  this. 


208  COLUMBUS. 

ARANA.     For  fancying  it,  yes;  or  anything. 
COLUMBUS.     But  Aristotle,  Seneca  and  Pliny 

Say  one  can  sail  from  Cadiz  to  the  Indies. 
TALAVERA.     Yet  wait.     Besides  this,  is  it  not 

a  fact 

That  they  too  calculated  three  years'  time, — 
Enough  to  starve  a    ship's  crew  ten    times 

over 

Before  her  cruise  could  compass  it? 
COLUMBUS.  Some  did; 

Yet,  judging  by  the  globe  of  Ptolemy, 
Compared  with  one  by  Marinus  of  Tyre, 
A  third  of  it  alone  rests  unexplored, — 
Eight   hours   of  twenty-four.     You  measure 

this. 

It  seems  not  more  than  seven  hundred  leagues. 
FONSECA.     You  measure  it? — The  whole  of  it 

is  fancy. 

ARANA.     Yes; — not  a  ray  of  reason  in  it! 
FONSECA.  No.] 

ARANA  (to  COLUMBUS).     And,  if  the  world  were 

round — what,  then,  forsooth? — 
Could  sail  around  it,  without  tumbling  off? 
FONSECA    (to    ZALORA).     Ay,    or    without    the 

water's  tumbling  off? 
ARANA.     Same  thing ! 
FERNANDEZ  (good-naturedly  to  COLUMBUS). 

I   think  that   you  must   be  the  man 
That  once  I  heard  of,  though  I  never  saw  him. 


COLUMBUS.  209 

Who  wants  to   turn  the  whole  world  upside- 
down 

FONSECA.     Where  roots  of  trees  bear  leaves,  and 

rain  spurts  up. 
BREVIESCA.     Oh,  he  would  feel  at  home  there — 

let  him  go ! 

His  head  feels  upside-down  without  the  going. 
FERNANDEZ.     You  wait  and  hear  the  whole  tale. 

They  examined 

The  feet  of  those  they  found  at  Flores ;  not  so  ? 
ZALORA.     They  did? 
FERNANDEZ.     Oh,  yes!  and  found  them  shaped 

like  spiders', 
Made  to  walk  up  like  this. 

(gesturing  with  his  hands.) 
[B  RE VIESCA.  Like  those  one  sees 

Clawed  on  a  pictured  devil. 
FONSECA.  If  he  sail, 

He  soon  may  see  them  too  upon  a  real  one. 
TALAVERA.     Severe ! 

FONSECA.  I  mean  it;  ay,  I  speak  the  truth. 

The  holy  father,  St.  Augustine,  shows  it: 
Men  formed  like  this — to  walk  thus  upside- 
down — 

Could  not  be  sons  of  Adam.     Did  they  live, 
It  would  upset  our  whole  historic  base 
Of  Christian  faith. 
ARANA.  Just  so ! 

FONSECA.  To  argue  it 

14 


210  COLUMBUS. 

At  all,  grant  it  conceivable — involves 

Clear  heresy. 

ZALORA.  Hear,  hear! 

ARANA.  Quite  right! 

BREVIESCA.  Ay,  ay. 

COLUMBUS.     But  are  you  sure  these  men  are  not 

like  us  ? 

FONSECA.     Humph,  you  would  practice  many 
years  before 

You  walked  with  your  heels  up. 
COLUMBUS.  But  there,  as  here, 

The  earth  may  seem  to  be  below  one. 
ARANA.  Ah ! 

We  grant  to  fancy,  man,  a  certain  flight — 

Have    witnessed    one   to-day.     But    do    you 
dream 

Her  wings  could  turn  us  all  to  flies 

Without  our  knowing  it? 
COLUMBUS.  There  may  be  laws 

Of  nature  past  our  understanding. 
BREVIESCA.  Yes. 

He   means   that   when   we   lose   our   under 
standing — 

Has  had  experience  of  that — why  then ] 

TALAVERA.     Come,  no  more  nonsense,  gentle 
men. 
ZALORA  (rising}.  No  more? 

Time  to  adjourn  then,  eh?     Is  nothing  else 

Before  the  house. 


COLUMBUS.  2U 

COLUMBUS  (rising  to  address  ZALORA). 

In  such  a  case  as  this, 

In  which  none  know  the  truth 

FONSECA  (rising).  Your  pardon,  but 

The  Scripture  says:     "He  stretcheth  out  the 

heavens" — 
How?— like   a   ball?— No,    no;    but    "like    a 

tent." 

You  dare  throw  doubt  upon  the  word  of  Him 
Who  framed  creation? 
COLUMBUS.  What  you  quote  is  but 

A  figure. 

FONSECA.  Fiction? 

COLUMBUS.  Figure — not  the  same. 

[BREVIESCA.     Accuse    of    figuring — Him    who 

knows  the  end 

From  the  beginning — all  the  sum  at  once? 
He  does  not  figure  up.     He  counts  the  whole. 
TALAVERA  (to  BREVIESCA).     Oh,  you  mistake 

his  meaning ! 
BREVIESCA    (looking      around      incredulously). 

What? 

FERNANDEZ  (to  BREVIESCA).  Yes,    yes.] 

COLUMBUS.     Were  one  upon  the  other  side  the 

globe, 

The  heavens  might  seem  as  like  a  tent  as  here. 
FONSECA.     They   only   might?     The   Scripture 

says  they  do. 
You  make  it  doubtful? 


212  COLUMBUS. 

BREVIESCA.  Heretic! 

A  RAN  A.  Too  true ! 

COLUMBUS.     My  one  desire,  the  purpose  of  my 

life 

Is  to  become  an  earthly  instrument 
Through  which  the  Scriptures  may  become 

fulfilled, 
That  all  the  ends  of  earth — they   are   ends 

now — 
Be  brought  together  with  one  Lord  and  God. 

FONSECA.     What  good  would  this  do,   if  His 
word  were  false? 

COLUMBUS  (in  surprise}.     You  think  I  doubt  it. 

FONSECA.  We  have  heard  you  term 

Its  affirmations  figures,  argue  down — 
And   that   writh    pagan    proofs — the   fathers. 

Truth 
Can  never  change. 

COLUMBUS.  We  can. 

FONSECA.  And  change  it  ? 

COLUMBUS.  Change 

Its  bearings  for  us.     Truth  is  of  the  heaven: 
The  mind  regarding  it  is  of  the  earth. 
[The  one  is  infinite,  the  other  finite: 
The  one  expressed  in  light  itself,  the  other 
In  forms  that  but  reflect  light;  and  the  truth, 
Made  such  but  by  reflection,  cannot  flash 
An  equal  ray  to  every  view-point. 

SEVERAL.  Oh!] 


COLUMBUS.  213 

COLUMBUS.     Give    blind   men   sight.     At    first 

their  new-viewed  sun 
Will  stand  still  in  the  heaven.     But  give  them 

time, 
That  sun  will  set  and  rise.     Then  give  them 

space, 

Lift  them  a  thousand  miles  above  the  soil, 
It  may  do  neither. 

ARANA.  Dangerous  doctrine  that! 

FONSECA  (to  COLUMBUS).     No  truth  then,  eh? 

COLUMBUS.  Yes;  truth  enough  for  all. 

But  truth  expressed  is  coin  to  use,  not  hoard. 

For  when  it  bears  the  stamp  of   times  too 

old, 

It  loses  current  value. 
FONSECA.  Hear  that!  hear! 

Why,  that  blasphemes  tradition! 
B  REVIESCA.  Just  as  if 

Antiquity  itself  did  not  prove  truth ! 
COLUMBUS.     The   moonlight   guides  us,   if  we 

have  no  sun. 

But  forms  that  loom  at  midnight  lie  to  those 
Who  know  them  in  the  day;  and  in  the  day 
No  judgment  of  the  distance  can  be  true 
Except  for  him  who  pushes  on  to  reach  it. 
[FONSECA.      Hold!     Hold!     Enough    of     this! 

There  is  a  law 

That  ought  to  be  enforced  here. 
ARANA.  We  shall  see! 


214  COLUMBUS. 

COLUMBUS.     The  world  will  see  in  time  that  I  am 

right. 

No  theory  spun  for  concepts  immature 
Can  ever  fit  their  full  maturity.] 

Enter — Right — an  ATTENDANT. 
TALAVERA  (rising).     A  moment,  gentlemen. 

(to  the  ATTENDANT.)     What  is  it? 
ATTENDANT.  Sire, 

The  royal  courier. 
TALAVERA.  Ah,  has  come  so  soon? 

(to  all.} 
Then  for  to-day  our  conference  must  end. 

(All  who  are  sitting  rise.} 
COLUMBUS  (to  TALAVERA). 

And  I  withdraw? 

TALAVERA  (bowing  in  assent  and  adieu  to  COLUM 
BUS)  .      We  thank  you  for  your  candor. 
(COLUMBUS  bows  to  all  the  council,  and  the  council 

to  him.) 
Exeunt — Right  — COLUMBUS    and    ATTENDANT, 

showing  him  out. 
FONSECA  (moving  with  the  others  toward  the  Left). 

But  we  must  see  we  have  no  more  of  it. 
FERNANDEZ  (to  ZALORA,  TALAVERA  and  MEN- 
DOZA,  who  are  walking  behind  FONSECA, 
ARANA,  BREVIESCA  and  others). 
A  spark  in  hayloft !  bull  in  porcelain ! 
Will  bring  the  whole  church  crackling  round 
us  yet. 


COLUMBUS.  215 

Exeunt — Left — FONSECA,     ARANA,     BREVIESCA 

and  others. 

MENDOZA  (to  FERNANDEZ). 
But  racy  as  a  bull  fight! 
FERNANDEZ.  In  the  which 

The  bull  did  some  tall  tossing. 
Exeunt — Left — First    MENDOZA,    then    ZALORA, 

TALAVERA  and  FERNANDEZ. 
PEREZ  (to  ST.  ANGEL).  Did  you  hear? — 

Strange  words  for  him ! 

ST.  ANGEL.  No;  I  have  always  found 

The  light  mind  is  the  bright  mind.     Wit  and 

wits 

Are  twins;  without  the  other  each  is  lacking. 
Exeunt — Right — ST.  ANGEL  and  all  others. 


SCENE  THIRD. — Exterior  of  the  Convent  of  La 
Rabida,  near  the  little  seaport  of  Palos,  in 
Andalusia,  in  Spain.  Backing,  a  wall,  behind 
which  are  hills,  trees,  and  a  distant  sea-view. 
At  the  right,  a  gateway  opening  into  the  Convent. 
At  the  left,  trees.  Entrances  at  the  Right  Rear, 
behind  the  Convent;  Right,  further  forward, 
through  a  gateway  opening  into  the  Convent; 
Left  Rear  and  Front  through  trees. 

Enter — Right  Rear — BEATRIX,  a  MAID,  and 
DIEGO  in  out-door  costumes. 

BEATRIX.     I  could  not  keep  him  back. 


21 6  COLUMBUS. 

DIEGO.  You  tried  to  block 

His  pathway,  eh?  but  he  looked  over  you — 
Beyond  you? 
BEATRIX.     Humph!    poor    treatment    from    a 

friend ! 

DIEGO.     And  you  would  fill  his  whole  horizon 
then? 

BEATRIX.     Why — in  a  friend 

DIEGO.  Is  easy,  yes;  make  friends 

Of  little  souls.     Humph!  they  are  common. 
BEATRIX  (offended}.  What? 

DIEGO.     A  spirit's  measure  is  its  outlook.    Find 
A  man  horizoned  by  the  whole  broad  world, 
Who  sees  it  all  in  all,  he  stands  a  son 
Of  God! — is  here  to  do  his  Father's  work; 
And  you  should  join  in  it,  or  not  join  him. 
BEATRIX.     Why  should  he  go  to  France? — no 

sailors  there ! 
DIEGO.     A  soul  when  conscious  of  the  highest 

mission 

Is  always  on  the  wing. 

BEATRIX.  You  know  our  king 

Gave  weight  to  what  he  argued,   promised 

ships? 
DIEGO.     But  would  not  place  my  brother  in 

command. 

BEATRIX.     Far  safer  so ! 
DIEGO  .  For  whom  ? 

BEATRIX.  Your  brother. 


COLUMBUS.  217 

DIEGO.  What?— 

You  talked  of  his  own  safety  to  my  brother? 
BEATRIX.     Why,  he  had  done  his  duty,  sown 
the  seed; 

Then  why  not  leave  the  rest  to  Providence? 
DIEGO.     Fling  seed  to  seas,  or  bid  it  root  in 
winds ; 

But  do  not  trust  your  thoughts  to  Providence. 

Their  soil  is  in  humanity,  nor  there 

Spring,  grow,  or  ripen  without  husbandry. 
BEATRIX.     He  talked  and  argued — 
DIEGO.  Oh,  to  talk  the  truth 

Is  easy  as  to  breathe.     To  live  the  truth, 

And,   mailed  in  its   pure  radiance,   burn   to 
black 

The   shade   its   white   heat   severs,    needs    a 
strength 

To  suffer  hatred  and  inspire  to  love, 

Half  hell's,  half  heaven's,  and  wholly  Christ's. 
[BEATRIX.  And  yet 

If  others  go 

DIEGO.  So  far  off  is  the  goal, 

And  so  unseen,  that  all  but  faith  will  fail ; 

And  this  they  lack. 
BEATRIX.  But  yet,  you  told  him,  too, 

You  thought  it  vain  to  leave  here. 
DIEGO.  Feared  it  vain. 

But  you,  you  urged  him  to  submit,  not  sail, 

Nor  push  his  claims  upon  the  king. 


218  COLUMBUS. 

BEATRIX.  Of  course, 

DIEGO.     Poor,  lonely  man ! 

BEATRIX.  His  own  fault — would  not  have 

A  soul  go  with  him. 
DIEGO.  Why  should  he?     To  minds 

In  which  the  spirit  so  subdues  the  sense, 

A  lack  of  sympathy  itself  is  absence. 
BEATRIX.     But  you  will  join  him? 
DIEGO.  Like  a  faithful  slave 

Whom  word,  not  thought,  commands. 
BEATRIX.  Why  should  not  I  go? 

DIEGO.     You  could  not  live  contented  with  a 
man 

With  no  home  either  for  himself  or  you. 

He  must  have  told  you  this. 
BEATRIX.  Home  seems  a  state, 

Not  place. 
DIEGO.     A  state  of  happiness,  and  that 

He  knows  he  could  not  give  you.] 
BEATRIX.  Do  you  think 

That  we  shall  see  him  here? 
DIEGO.  Why  yes,  I  think 

That  they  will  find  him;  if  so,  bring  him  back. 

He  would  not  miss  a  meeting  with  the  queen. 
BEATRIX.     You  say  she  lunches  with  the  monks 

to-day  ? 
DIEGO.     I  heard  so,  yes — 

(pointing  toward  the  Left  Rear.) 

And  look  you — she  is  coming. 


COLUMBUS.  219 

BEATRIX.     I  have  some  faith  in  her. 
DIEGO.  Faith  always  waits 

On  perfect  womanhood.     Show  men  a  form 
Whose  outward  symmetry  of  nature  frames 
A  symmetry  of  soul,  whose  pure-hued  face 
Complexions  pureness  of  the  character, 
Whose  clear  sweet  accents  outlet  clear,  sweet 

thought, 
Whose  burning  eyes  flash  flame  from  kindled 

love, 

And  all  whose  yielding  gracefulness  of  mien 
But  fitly  robes  all  grace-moved  sympathy, — 
Ay,  find  a  soul  whose  outward  beauty  shields 
But  brighter  beauty  of  the  blade  within 
By  what  seems  merely  ornament, — to  her 
All  men  will  yield  a  spirit's  loyalty. 
The  fairy-goddess  of  the  world  of  fact, 
Dream-sister  of  the  brotherhood  of  deed, 
An  angel  minister  as  well  as  queen, 
The  splendor  of  her  station  lifts  her  high 
But  like  the  sun  that  she  may  light  us  all. 
Enter — Left  Rear — the  QUEEN  and  ATTENDANTS, 

among  them  ST.  ANGEL. 
Enter — at    the    same    time — at    the    Right 
through     the     convent's     gateway, — 
MONKS,  among  them  PEREZ,  behind 
them  SANCHEZ  and  COLUMBUS. 
PEREZ  (to  the  QUEEN  to  whom  all  do  reverence) . 
We  feel  much  honored  by  your  presence. 


220  COLUMBUS. 

QUEEN.  Nay, 

You  are  the  ministers  of  higher  power. 
The  honor  comes  to  me. 
BEATRIX  (to  DIEGO  in  the  rear). 

Look  there — your  brother. 
DIEGO.     So  they  have  found  him. 
BEATRIX.  Hark — they  speak  of  him. 

PEREZ.     Your  majesty,  your  couriers  have  re 
turned. 

They  found  the  Mariner. 
QUEEN.  Yes,  and  where? 

PEREZ.  Far  up 

The  mountains,  just  beside  the  boundary. 
QUEEN.     Alone? 
PEREZ.  Alone. 

(introducing  COLUMBUS.)     The  Mariner. 

(COLUMBUS  salutes  the  QUEEN.) 
QUEEN   (to  COLUMBUS).  As  I  hoped. 

And  you  were  leaving  us? 
COLUMBUS.  I  was. 

QUEEN.  Why  so? 

COLUMBUS.     I  have  an  aim  in  life. 

'BEATRIX,  in  her  gestures  towards  DIEGO, 

to  which  she  tries  to  attract  the  attention 

of  COLUMBUS,   expresses  disapproval 

of  his  answers  which  follow  here.} 

QUEEN.  I  thought  the  king 

Had  promised  ships. 
COLUMBUS.  He  had. 


COLUMBUS.  221 

QUEEN.  And  officers. 

COLUMBUS.     Not  those  for  such  an  undertaking. 
QUEEN.  You 

Can  go  with  them. 
COLUMBUS.  Your  pardon,  but — I  beg — 

Excuse  me. 
QUEEN.  Why? 

COLUMBUS.  I  have  no  time  to  waste. 

QUEEN.     To  waste? 

COLUMBUS.  Full  eighteen  years  ago  I  first 

,   Made    known    my    plan.      I   am    no    longer 

young. 
QUEEN.     Why,  ships  and  men,  and  you  to  sail 

with  them ! 
COLUMBUS.     Sail  off,  sail  back — I  have  no  time 

to  waste. 

QUEEN.     You  think  they  would  not  persevere? 
COLUMBUS.  The  goal 

Is  not  of  their  discerning. — Why  should  they 
Be  thought  the  ones  to  bring  it  to  the  light? 

QUEEN.     But  they 

COLUMBUS.     To   them   it   seems   a   madman's 

whim, 

A  thing  to  flout; — to  me  the  one  conception 
Of  all  that  is  most  rational  and  holy. 
Which,  then,  would  give  his  life  that  it  might 

live? 

QUEEN.     Why,  we  had  hopes  that  none  would 
need  do  that. 


222  COLUMBUS. 

COLUMBUS.     And  hopes  well  based ;  yet  any  man 

who  sails 

Across  that  unknown  sea  must  have  far  more 
Than  enterprise,  experience,  caution,  skill, 
Knowledge    of  sail  and  compass,   wind  and 

star. 

The  soul  must  be  embarked  upon  the  voyage 
With  aims  outreaching  all  that  but  concern 
The  narrow  limits  of  this  earthly  life. 
QUEEN.     How  few   such   men!     Where  would 

you  find  your  crew? 
COLUMBUS.     Wherever   minds    are    subject    to 

ideas. 
QUEEN.     And  where  is  that  ? — You  judge  men  by 

yourself. 
COLUMBUS.     I  would  not  dare  to  boast  such 

difference, 

Or  so  humiliate  my  humanity, 
As  to  presume  it  possible  that  aims 
Inspiring  my  own  soul,  if  rightly  urged, 
Would  not  inspire,  too,  many  another. 
QUEEN.  Yes, 

I  can  believe  it,  with  yourself  to  urge  them. 
And  were  you  given  command,   would  you 

collect 

A  crew  and  sail  with  them? 
COLUMBUS.  No  man  can  reach 

A  problem's  right  solution,  if  he  fail 
To  calculate  aright  the  means. 


COLUMBUS.  223 

QUEEN.  Of  course — 

And  that 

COLUMBUS.     Has  not  been  done  in  this  case. 
QUEEN.  No?— 

What  more  would  you  require? 
COLUMBUS.  Ten  times  the  sum 

That  has  been  promised. 
QUEEN.  Ten  times? — ten  times  that 

Is  not  in  all  the  treasury. 
COLUMBUS.  I  would  give 

The  whole  I  have — both  property  and  life. 
SANCHEZ.     And  I. 

QUEEN.  You  would ? — Yet  rich ! 

SANCHEZ.  I  would. 

DIEGO    (coming  forward  and  bowing  before  the 
QUEEN).  And     I, 

Though  I  have  nothing — only  what  you  see. 
ST.  ANGEL.     Your  Majesty,  with  men  like  these, 
preparing 

To  root  their  very  spirits  out  from  earth, 

That  they  may  thus  transplant  them  where  the 
world 

Will  reap  a  richer  fruitage,  what  were  Spain, 

Were  she  to  grudge  a  void  from  which  were 
scraped 

A  paltry  heap  of  gold!     All  were  too  mean 

To  pedestal  aright  the  lasting  fame 

That  would   be  hers,  did   they   attain  their 
end 


224  COLUMBUS. 

QUEEN.     How  true! — and  yet  the  royal  treas 
ury 

ST.   ANGEL.     Are  there  no  treasures  elsewhere 

than  in  that? 
QUEEN  (hesitating  a  moment). 

There  are.     If  I  be  queen,  let  me  be  queen 
Of  Spain's  rich  spirit  as  of  Spain's  rich  soil. 
I  will — there  is  a  treasure. — What  to  Spain 
Are  her  most  precious  treasures,  that  star  most 
The  crown  that  they  surround  with  living 

light? 
Mere  jewels,  think  you? — Nay,  not  these,  but 

men. 

And  if  I  give  the  one  to  gain  the  other,  who 
Could  strike  a  better  bargain?     Ay,  I  will — 
I  pledge  you  the  crown  jewels  of  Castile. 
I  pledge  you  the  commandership.     Enough! 
When  ready,  you  shall  go. 
COLUMBUS  (jailing  on  his  knees  before  her). 

God  bless  the  queen. 
(The  others  fall  on  their  knees  beside  COLUMBUS.) 


CURTAIN.    END  OF  ACT  II. 


ACT  THIRD. 

SCENE  FIRST. — A  street  in  Pahs  de  Moguer,  in 
Andalusia.  Backing,  a  distant  harbor,  with 
ships.  At  the  Right,  a  porch  before  the  house 
of  BEATRIX.  At  the  Left,  other  houses.  En 
trances,  Right  Rear,  behind  the  house  of  BEA 
TRIX;  Right,  farther  forward,  through  a  door 
opening  from  this  house  onto  the  porch  in  front 
of  it;  Right  Front,  through  the  street  in  front  of 
this  house;  Left  Rear  and  Front,  through  streets. 

(The    rising    curtain     reveals     COLUMBUS    and 
BEATRIX,  standing  on  or  near  the  porch.} 

COLUMBUS.     Now  I  must  off,  and  see  the  ships. 

You  know 
How  long  I  have  been  gone. 

BEATRIX.  You  met  the  queen? 

COLUMBUS.     And  king,   and  got  their  last  in 
structions. 

BEATRIX.  Oh, 

I  cannot  bear  to  have  you  sail! 

COLUMBUS.  Nor  I 

To  leave  you. 

BEATRIX.  Yet 

15  225 


226  COLUMBUS. 

[COLUMBUS.  I  must. 

BEATRIX.  Oh,  yes,  you  must! 

COLUMBUS.     Our  lives  are  finite,  but  the  aims  of 
life 

Are  infinite,  and  crowd  on  every  side. 

Whate'er  we  strive  to  reach,  in  thought,  in 
deed, 

At  last,  some  one  aim  surely  tips  the  scales; 

As  it  has  weight,  its  rivals  are  thrown  up. 
BEATRIX.     Yes,  even  she  who  loves  you. 
COLUMBUS.  I  had  hoped, 

Now  that  my  project  seems,  at  last,  afloat, 

That  your  soul  would  be  buoyant  as  is  mine. 
BEATRIX.     Yes,  yes,  but  yet  can  it  be  worth  the 

price? 

COLUMBUS.     I  know  your  meaning, — loss  of  life, 
perhaps, 

And  all  for  which  some  prize  life, — ease  and 
love. 

But,  ah,  who  would  not  feel  it  is  worth  this?  — 

And  others  go  with  me  who  think  the  same. 
BEATRIX.     Some  call  them  fools. 
COLUMBUS.  Some? — where? 

BEATRIX.  In  all  the  streets. 

COLUMBUS.     Here? 
BEATRIX.  Yes. 

COLUMBUS.         They  are  fools,  if  this  life  be  all; 

And  fools,  if  they  but  claim  that  it  is  all. 

For,  risking  dangers  thick  as  mid-sea-mists 


COLUMBUS.  227 

In  war,   in  wave,   men's   deeds  outdo   their 

words, 

And  prove  they  serve  a  grander  sovereignty, 
Whose  realms  outreach  all  death-lines. 
BEATRIX.  Is  it  these 

You  seek  in  that  cloud-circled,  storm-set  sea? 
Ah,  how  can  I  let  them  out-price  your  life? — 
Or  how  can  you?] 

COLUMBUS.  So  often  I  have  told  you! — 

What  moves  me  seems  beyond  all  conscious 

thought; 

Seems  like  the  lure  that  leads  the  summer  bird 
Southward  when  comes  the  fall.     It  is  enough, 
It  is  my  destiny.     I  weigh  it  well, 
And  find  it  rational ;  yet  why  I  first 
Conceived  it  as  I  do,  I  cannot  tell. 

Enter — Left — DIEGO  and  a  COMPANION. 
DIEGO  (to  his  COMPANION ashelooks  at  BEATRIX). 
Like  all  the  other  women  in  the  town, 
Is  leagued  to  keep  him  back,  eh?     It  is  not 
In  nature  that  a  man  obey  a  woman. 
And  human  ways,  when  not  in  nature,  bode 
Inhuman  tampering  somewhere.     He  should 

know 

That  none  can  turn  to  she  the  pronoun  he 
Without  an  5  that  puts  a  hiss  before  it. 
Exit — Left — COMPANION. 

(to  COLUMBUS.) 
My  brother  ? 


228  COLUMBUS. 

COLUMBUS  (to  DIEGO).     Ay? 

DIEGO.     Have  business   (Dmco  and  BEATRIX 

bow  to  each  other}. 

COLUMBUS.  I   know   it — (to   BEATRIX), 

Will  find  you  later.     Now,  you  will  excuse  me. 

Exit — Right — into   her   house,    BEATRIX. 
DIEGO.     You  should  have  come  before.     That 

woman's  gowns 

Are  always  clinging  to  you — look  as  if 
She  thought  to  make  a  woman  of  yourself. 
Confound  their  sex! 

COLUMBUS.     Not  all  now!     There  arc  some 

DIEGO.     Some  men  too;  but  in  all  of  Spain,  not 

six 

To  man  your  vessels  of  their  own  free  will. 
Why  not? — Because  not  fit  to  go  with  you. 
How  many  women  think  you  fit  for  it? 
[COLUMBUS.     Be  not  so  hard  on  them. 
DIEGO.  No,  they  are  soft, 

More  soft  than  cats,  and  mew,  too,  ay,  and 

scratch. 

Have  seen  their  blisters!  ay,  have  seen  a  man 
Whose  very  soul  had  been  scratched  out  by 

one. 

COLUMBUS.     You  talk  as  if  you  feared  for  me. 
DIEGO.  I  fear 

For  all  the  expedition.     Have  you  heard 
The  news? 
COLUMBUS.     What  is  it? 


COLUMBUS.  229 

DIEGO.  Nothing  that  is  good. 

COLUMBUS.     The  ships  are — 

DIEGO.      Floating.     You  may  thank  the  guards. 

The  crews  have  all  deserted. 
COLUMBUS.  What? 

DIEGO.  As  if 

The  howlings  of  their  wives  and  mothers  here 

About  their  ears,  could  bring  them  less  of  hell 

Than  howlings  of  the  wind  upon  the  sea! 
COLUMBUS.     The  women  have  persuaded  them 
to  break 

Their  word  with  us? 
DIEGO.  Why,  yes.     Who  else  would,  eh? 

What  woman  ever  cared  about  her  word, — 

Her  own  word  or  her  husband's?     Bless  her 
jaws! 

They  have  so  many  words,  why  care  for  one 

word  ?] 

COLUMBUS.     Oh,  waive  the  women!     Is  it  true 
the  crews 

Have  all  deserted? 
DIEGO.  Almost  all. 

COLUMBUS.  But  yet 

The  government 

DIEGO.  Yes,  they  have  sent  around 

Arresting  some,  imprisoning  others.     You 

Will  have  your  crew;  for  they  have  found  a 
source 

Beyond  exhausting. 


230  COLUMBUS. 

COLUMBUS.  What  is  that? 

DIEGO.  The  jail, 

Which,  like  an  Arab-shirt  turned  inside  out, 

Will  shake  its  lice  upon  you. 
COLUMBUS.  That,  at  least, 

Will  give  us  men. 
DIEGO.  If  you  can  call  them  men, 

[These  creatures,  whom  a  life-long  fear  of  light 

Has   trained  for   treachery   stabbing   in   the 
dark; 

Sneaks,  too  irresolute  and  indolent 

To  push  by  worthy  means  to  worthy  ends. 

But  I  would  trust  in  waves  adrift  for  hell 

As  much  as  in  a  rudder  held  by  knaves.] 

What  can  you  ever  do  with  such  as  these 

When  three  months  out  at  sea? 
COLUMBUS.  I  shall  depend 

Upon  my  officers. 
DIEGO.  You  know  them  then? 

You  never  know  a  coward  soul  till  cowed 

By  gusts  out- winding  his  own  self-conceit; 

And  garbs  they  guise  in,  never  cloud  the  air 

In  time  for  us  to  brace  the  fence  they  fell. 

I  would  that  I  were  going  with  you. 
COLUMBUS.  No; 

All  that  we  settled.     One  should  stay  behind 

To  guard  our  interests  here. 

Enter — Left — GUTIERREZ. 
DIEGO.  And  will  be  needed 


COLUMBUS.  231 

Far  more  than  you  could  guess.     This  officer 

Will  tell  you, — is  the  one  has  been  in  charge. 
COLUMBUS,     (to   GUTIERREZ    as    they   exchange 
salutes.} 

The  ships  are  safe  and  ready? 
GUTIERREZ.  Guarded,  Senior, 

All  night,  all  day.   Some  men  here  took  an  oath, 

Perhaps  you  know,  to  scuttle  them. 
COLUMBUS.  They  did? 

But  they  have  not  succeeded. 
GUTIERREZ.  No,  of  course. 

We  always  guard  a  ship,  when  once  impressed 

For  royal  services,  like  treasure.     Still 

They  came  within  an  inch  of  it. 
COLUMBUS.  How  so  ? 

GUTIERREZ.     We  thought  that  Breviesca  was 

your  friend. 

COLUMBUS.     Quite  otherwise,  I  fear. 
GUTIERREZ.  And  I,  but  yet, 

As  agent  of  Fonseca,  Bishop  of 

COLUMBUS.     0,  worse  and  worse!    The  bishop, 
I  believe, 

Would  be  assured  that  only  truth  had  tri 
umphed, 

If  I  and  all  the  crew  were  drowned. 
GUTIERREZ.  Ah,  so? 

Well,  they  have  tried  it. 
COLUMBUS.  What? 

GUTIERREZ.  To  have  you  drowned. 


232  COLUMBUS. 

COLUMBUS.     You  mean? — 

GUTIERREZ.  Tried  to  corrupt  the  calkers. 

COLUMBUS.  No! — 

Are  sure  of  that? 

GUTIERREZ.  I  overheard. 

COLUMBUS.  Good  God! — 

This  man  Breviesca? 

GUTIERREZ.  It  was  he. 

COLUMBUS.  And    you?— 

GUTIERREZ.     We  turned  the  calkers  off;   and 

had  a  task 

Impressing  other.     That  performed,  we  put 
A  soldier  back  of  every  one  to  calk 
His   pores   with   steel   unless   he   calked   the 
ships'. 

COLUMBUS.     They  now  are  ready? 

GUTIERREZ.  All  things  ready,  Senior. 

COLUMBUS.     We  sail  to-morrow,  then. 

GUTIERREZ.  Meantime,  perhaps— 

Your  pardon — you  will  hold  yourself  unseen? 

COLUMBUS.     Why  so? 

GUTIERREZ.       To  save  a  conflict  with  the  mob. 

COLUMBUS.     You  mean  that 

GUTIERREZ.     They   might    keep    you    here    by 

force ; 

[Or  sacrifice  your  life,  and  readily, 
To  save  their  friends, — the  friends  they  deem 
are  doomed. 

DIEGO.     Why,  very  victims  burning  at  the  stake 


COLUMBUS.  233 

Could  never  cause  a  cloud  more  black  than 

seems 
To  hang  above  the  town  to-day.] 

COLUMBUS  (to  GUTIERREZ).     I  see, 

Your  hint  has  value.     I  will  join  you  soon. 

Exit — Left — GUTIERREZ,    after    saluting.     COL 
UMBUS  continues  to  DIEGO. 
So  so!     You  note  what  influenced  Beatrix. 

[DIEGO.     Of  course.     A  man  but  in  his  public 

thought 

Antiphonals  the  public  sentiment. 
A  woman  does  it  in  her  private  thought; 
And  woe  to  lovers  who  dare  say  their  say 
Without  a  little  clique  that,  echoing  it, 
Can  make  it  seem,  at  least,  a  little  public. 

COLUMBUS.     But  can  you  blame  her — 

DIEGO.  Trend  to  fashion?     No. 

You  flaunt  the  flag  of  fashion  in  a  crowd 
And,  in  the  bee-line  of  their  rush  to  tail 
Its  leading,  one  could  pick  the  women  out 
Without  their  having  skirts  on.] 

COLUMBUS.  I  must  send 

For  Pinzon.     He  awaits  me  at  his  home. 

DIEGO.     Let  me  go. 

COLUMBUS.     Thanks,  and  say  that  I  must  wait, 
And  meet  him  at  the  ships.     Find  Perez  too, 
And  tell  him  that  we  sail  at  dawn,  and  wish 
The  sacrament.     You  say  that  we  will  use 
The  little  chapel  there  beside  the  dock. 


234  COLUMBUS. 

DIEGO.     I  will. 
COLUMBUS.     And  I  go  too — 
(looking   toward   the   left,    then   at   the   house   of 
BEATRIX.)    And  yet  I  ought 

To  say  a  word  more  here.     When  courtesy 

And  caution  balance  in  the  scales,  the  heart 

Is  kinder  than  the  head,  if  not  more  wise. 

Exit — Right  Front — DIEGO. 
Enter — Right    Rear — BREVIESCA,      accompanied 

by  a  CITIZEN. 

BREVIESCA  (stepping  between  COLUMBUS  and  the 
house  of  BEATRIX). 

Good  day. 

COLUMBUS.  Ah !  Senior  Breviesca ! 

BREVIESCA.  I 

Would  speak  to  you. 
COLUMBUS.        You  have  your  wish. 
BREVIESCA.  I  bring 

An  invitation  from  the  bishop. 
COLUMBUS.  Which— 

Fonseca  ? 

BREVIESCA.    Yes. 
COLUMBUS.  And  where  is  he? 

BREVIESCA.  Why,  at 

The  monastery. 
COLUMBUS.  On  the  other  side 

The   town,   not   so? — What   would   he   with 

me? 
BREVIESCA.  Talk 


COLUMBUS.  235 

About    the    mission    that    the    church    has 

planned. 

COLUMBUS.     These  matters  have  been  all  ar 
ranged. 
BREVIESCA.  But  he 

Would  see  you. 

COLUMBUS.        He  can  see  me  at  my  ship. 
BREVIESCA.     His  work  prevents. 
COLUMBUS.  Then  give  him  my  regrets. 

BREVIESCA.     But  he  demands  your  presence. 
COLUMBUS.  I  am  not 

Within  his  jurisdiction. 
[CITIZEN.  Ho!  hear  that. 

COLUMBUS.     My    work    was    ordered    by    the 

queen. 

BREVIESCA.  And  mine 

Was  ordered  by  the  bishop.     Will  you  come? 
COLUMBUS.     My  answer  has  been  given. 
CITIZEN.  Frightened  eh? — 

Aha! — would  get  behind  the  soldiers  there. 
{pointing  toward  the  ships  and  harbor  at  the  Left). 
COLUMBUS.     A  man  who  lives  for  others,  not 

for  self, 

Has  little  fear  for  self;  yet  care  for  them 
May    give    him    caution.     I    have    weighty 

reasons 

For  keeping  eyes  upon  the  ships. 
CITIZEN   (sarcastically  and  looking  significantly 
at  BREVIESCA).     Oh,  yes!] 


236  COLUMBUS. 

BREVIESCA  (approaching  COLUMBUS  as  if  to  lay 

his  hand  on  him). 

Say,  will  you  go  with  us? — I  think  you  will. 
COLUMBUS  (knocking  BREVIESCA  down). 

Yes,  yes,  when  down  there  with  you,  then  I 

will. 

Enter — Left    Rear — GUTIERREZ    with    two    SOL 
DIERS. 

Enter — Right  Front — DIEGO. 
Exit — Right  Rear — CITIZEN. 
DIEGO.    What  is  it? 

COLUMBUS.  I  am  practicing,  you  see — 

On  criminals. — That  man  there  set  a  trap. 
But  it  takes  two  to  make  a  trap  work.     He, 
He  was  a  genius,  this  man,  played  both  roles. 
He  set  it  and  was  caught  in  it. 
Exit — Right    Rear — BREVIESCA,    crawling    anx 
iously  away. 

DIEGO  and  GUTIERREZ  start  to  follow  and  arrest 
him.     COLUMBUS    motions   them    back   with    his 

hand.     No,  no! 
DIEGO.     And  you,  my  brother?     Such  a  patient 

man? 
COLUMBUS.     Oh,    patient!    When    a    fire    has 

been  kept  in 

For  eighteen  years,  blame  not  its  blazing  out. 
Thank  God  it  did  not  wholly  blast  the  fool 
Whose  fumbling  fouled  it — thought  it  had  no 
life. 


COLUMBUS.  237 

The  villain!  if  I  only  could  be  sure 
He  would  be  better  for  the  punishment! 
DIEGO.     You  go  now  to  the  ships? 
COLUMBUS.  Yes,  very  soon. 

GUTIERREZ.     Shall  I  go  with  you? 
COLUMBUS  (ascending  the  porch  of  the  house  of 

BEATRIX).       Wait  here  if  you  choose. 
But  yet,  of  all  men  taught  the  lesson,  I 
By   this    time,    should   have   learned   to    go 
alone. 

Exit— Right  Front— DIEGO. 
Exit — Right — through    the    porch — COLUMBUS. 
GUTIERREZ  motions  to  the  soldiers  as  if  setting 
a  guard  about  the  house  of  BEATRIX. 


SCENE  SECOND. — The  deck  of  the  ship  of  COL 
UMBUS.  Backing,  sky  and  sea;  at  first,  invisible 
because  it  is  night;  later  visible,  as  at  sunrise  and, 
if  thought  best,  representing,  in  a  panorama,  a 
gradual  approach  of  the  ships  to  shore,  the 
scenery  moving  from  Left  to  Right.  At  the 
Right  is  a  cabin;  above  it,  a  box  for  the  pilot 
and  a  platform  on  which  sailors  can  stand.  A  t 
the  Left,  apparently  near  the  bow  of  the  vessel 
is  a  hatchway  into  the  ship's  hold.  On  the  deck 
are  masts,  sails,  ropes  and  other  things  that  will 
readily  suggest  themselves. 
Entrances,  at  the  Right,  into  the  cabin,  and  on  to 


238  COLUMBUS. 

the  platform  above  it,  also  on  to  the  deck;  at  the 
Left,  into  the  hatchway,  and  on  to  the  deck. 

ROLDAN  appears  near  the  bow  of  the  ship, 

ESCOBAR  beside  him,  and  PINTOR  nearer 

the  cabin .    Other  SAILORS  also  are  present. 

ROLDAN  (looking  off  through  the  dark).     Oh,  I  am 

sick  of  this ! 

PINTOR.  And  I. 

ESCOBAR.  You  wait. 

Another  storm  will  make  you  sicker  still. 
[PINTOR.     If  it  would  only  sicken  him. 
ROLDAN.  Make  him 

Throw  up,  eh? 

PINTOR.  Yes,  throw  up  the  voyage. 

ESCOBAR.  That 

Will  come  in  time.     But  when  it  comes,  my 

lad, 

The  ship  will  throw  up  us  too. 
PINTOR.  I  know  now 

How  fish  feel  when  they  see  the  water  boil, 
Just  when  we  drop  them  in  alive. 
ESCOBAR.  Are  not 

More  out  their  element  than  we  are  here, 
With  these  few  planks  between — then  purga 
tory. 
PINTOR.     Nor   any   more   sure,    either,    to   be 

cooked.] 

ROLDAN.     What    means    it    all? — those    weeks 
without  a  stir 


COLUMBUS.  239 

Amid  the  waves,  and  then  those  heavy  swells 

Without  a  stir  amid  the  winds? 
ESCOBAR.  What  means  it  ? — 

Why,  like  enough  our  ship  is  near  the  place. 

Where  all  the  waters  pour  down  hill. 
ROLDAN.  You  mean 

The  edge? 

ESCOBAR.     Why  not? — In  streams  you  always 
find 

Smooth,  rapid  water,  waves,   and  then  the 

plunge. 

ROLDAN.     Is  quiet  now. 
ESCOBAR.  So  is  a  cataract 

Just  where  it  nears  the  brink. 
ROLDAN.  The  holy  dame! 

Do  you  believe? — 
ESCOBAR.     There  must  have  been  some  cause. 

What  was  it?     There  was  not  a  wind. 
PINTOR.  And  when 

There  was,  ten  times  to  one  time  it  blew  west. 

No  wind  like  that  will  ever  speed  us  home. 
ESCOBAR.     And  what  wind  think  you  will,  or 

can? 

ROLDAN.  Or   can? 

ESCOBAR.     Humph !  let  him  keep  on  here,  a  day 
or  two, 

These  floating  weeds  will  hold  us  like  a  vise. 
ROLDAN.         He  calls  them  signs  of  land. 
ESCOBAR.  Oh,  yes,  of  land! — 


240  COLUMBUS. 

That  fatal  land  afloat  in  fatal  seas 
Entrapping  in  their  meshes  all  the  ships 
That  dare  to  venture  near. 
ROLDAN    (looking  for  approval  to   PINTOR  and 
other  SAILORS,   who  nod  to  him  in  con 
firmation  of  what  he  says.) 

Yes,  we  have  heard — 
ESCOBAR.     You  have? — Then  you  are  all  a  set  of 

fools. 
[PiNTOR.     I   know  it;   but    it    never  was    our 

fault. 

ESCOBAR.     Not? — Whose? 
PINTOR.     The  government's.     It  forced  us  here. 
ESCOBAR.     We  were  not  kept  here  by  it.     What 

does  that 

Is  one  man's  will,  and  he  a  lunatic. 
ROLDAN.     How   did  he   ever   gain   the   ear   of 

Spain  ? 
ESCOBAR.     By  talking.     Most  men's  thoughts 

are  led,  you  know, 
In  trains  of  their  own  talking.     Talk  them 

down, 
They   lose   their   leader.      Keep  on   talking 

then, 

They  find  in  you  another.     Any  sound 
You  choose  to  make,   they  take  for  sense. 

Why  not? 

That  course  has  grown  to  be  their  habit. 
PINTOR.  Oh, 


COLUMBUS.  241 

Yet  not  through  talk  or  thought  he  deals  with 

us, 

But  force. 

ESCOBAR.         And  he  will  find  before  he  dies 
That  men  accept  one's  estimate  of  them. 
If  he  esteem  them  thinkers,  give  them  thought, 
They  turn  to  him  like  thinking  beings;   but 
If  he   esteem   them   brutes,   and   give   them 

force, 

They  turn  upon  him  like  a  brute. 
ROLDAN.  Should  we, 

Ourselves? 

ESCOBAR.         Why  not? — if  he  deserve  it? 
ROLDAN.  But 

If  we  should  mutiny,  and  then  go  home — 
ESCOBAR.     The  choice  is  not  between  this  place 

and  home ; 

No,  but  the  bottom  of  the  sea  and  land. 
And  other  lands  are  fertile  as  are  Spain's. 
ROLDAN.     You  own  no  wife  and  children! 
ESCOBAR.  Humph,  that  means 

My  life  is  not  behind  me,  but  before — 
With  precious  little  left  of  it,  and  this — 
How   much    is    time    here    worth,    if    in    it 

all 
We  live  but  slaves,  and  never  know  of  good 

times  ? 

The    man   who   squeezes   these    all    out    our 
life— 

16 


242  COLUMBUS. 

Wrings  our  last  sweat-drop  out  to  serve  him 
self— 

He  has 

PINTOR.        A  vampire's  care  for  us. 
ESCOBAR.  What  he 

Cares  for  is  notoriety,  which  means 

The  bulge  of  contrast.     Crush  and  hush  your 
kind, 

And  you  are  seen  and  heard.] 
PINTOR.  What  right  has  he 

To  lord  and  offset  Genoese  mastership 

By  making  slaves  of  Spaniards? 
ROLDAN.  That  was  what 

They  asked  at  home! 
ESCOBAR.  What  they  will  ask  again, 

If  we  sail  home  without  him. 
PINTOR.  That  they  will. 

What  man  of  station  in  the  land  would  not 

Be  glad  to  hear  that  he  had  failed? 
ESCOBAR.  And  all 

The  rest  will  see  that  those  who  sailed  beyond 

All  others  on  a  sea  like  this,  have  done 

The  whole  that  Spain  could  ask. 

ROLDAN.  And  still 

ESCOBAR.  As  if 

It  were  not  right,  when  in  a  madman's  hands, 

To  use  our  reason,  and  resist  him. 
PINTOR.  Yes, 

A  man  should  use  his  reason.     Are  we  brutes? 


COLUMBUS.  243 

[ESCOBAR.     No; — worse  than  brutes  when  he 

comes.     Brutes,  at  times, 
To  save  their  lives,  will  turn  upon  a  man. 
But  we — five  score  to  one,  but  all  afraid 
To  call  our  souls  our  own.     Let  him  appear, 
We  fly  like  cry-girls  from  a  buzzing  bug 
One  touch  could  crush  in  no  time. 

ROLDAN.  But  the  court 

Has  clothed  him  with  authority. 

ESCOBAR.  Mere  sheep 

Would  not  be  driven  by  another  sheep 
Though  clothed  in  bear-skin,  could  they  only 

hear 
His  old  familiar  bleat. 

ROLDAN  .  And  yet  you  know 

He  has  the  power 

ESCOBAR.  Because  we  give  it  him, 

Who  whine, — whine  merely  like  a  set  of  babes, 
Too  weak  to  lift  a  finger  for  ourselves. 

ROLDAN.     The  King 

ESCOBAR.  Is  all  divine!     I  grant  it;  ay, 

What  else  could  ever  pick  out,  plying  but 
A  random  sword,  and  prick  and  pin  in  place 
As  many  Spanish  cowards  as  are  here?] 

ROLDAN.     Man,    you   will   have   us   hung   for 
murder  yet. 

ESCOBAR.     Oh,  there  is  many  a" way  to  kill  a  cat. 
The  best  I  know  is  drowning.     Nights  are 
dark. 


244  COLUMBUS. 

And  one  may  slip  against  a  man,  and  he, 
When    slipped    against,    may    stumble    over 
board. 
If    so,    he    drowns — but    how? — he    drowns 

himself. 
ROLDAN.     Hark! — He  is  coming! — Down — and 

clear  from  this. 

Exeunt — Left,  into    the  Hatchway — ROL 
DAN,  PINTOR  and  ESCOBAR. 
Enter — Right,  from   the  Cabin — COLUMBUS   and 

BARTHOLOMEW. 
COLUMBUS  (to  BARTHOLOMEW). 

He  comes  on  plotting. — That  is  plain  enough. 
How  form  and  face — mere  garments  that  they 

are — 

Will  twist  and  wrinkle  to  a  touch  of  thought ! — 
Fools ! — Yet  without  fools,  where  were  sover 
eignty 
For  wise  men? — they  would  find  it  harder 

work 

To  do  earth's  thinking  for  it;  harder  work 
To  string  the  nerves  that  center  in  one's  brain 
Through  all  the  mass,  and  rein  it  to  one's 

will.— 

Can  I  do  this  with  these  men  ?  or  must  I, 
I  who  have  given  all  these  years  to  it, 
Ay,  and  my  young  love  too,  my  life,  my  all, — 
Must  I  turn  back? — I  will  not,  though  they 
kill  me.  (looking  at  a  paper  in  his  hand.) 


COLUMBUS.  245 

These  figures  give  seven  hundred  fifty  leagues. 
How  wise  to  make  my  false  log  for  the  crew ! 
That  log  has  passed  six  hundred ;  but  without 

it 

I  might  have  had  more  trouble.     In  the  time 
I  served  King  Renier,  and  went  off  to  take 
The  galley  Fernandina;  and  my  crew, 
In  fright  to  hear  two  ships  were  guarding  her, 
Had  turned  our  helm,  and  thought  we  flew 

away ; 

Ah,  how  I  steered  straight  for  her  in  the  night ! 
And  fought  her  at  the  dawn! — So  act  I  here. 
We  men  who  think  have  duties  due  our  kind. 
One  duty  is,  to  block  their  finding  out 
What  are  our  thoughts.     Yes,  they  may  learn 

too  much. 

The  truth  is  not  a  plaything  for  a  babe. 
Truth  is  a  gem,  and  sometimes  needs  encasing. 
Yet,  if  we  sail  on  long,  the  day  will  come 
When   our   true   distance   will   be   known.— 

What  then? 
What  then? 
VOICES    (from    the   hatchway}.     He    shall    turn 

back!     He  shall!    Will  make  him. 
COLUMBUS.     Hark!    hark! — turn    back?     They 

dare  speak  out  like  that? 
Oh,  what  a  cruel  destiny  is  mine 
To  unfulfillment  doom'd,  if  I  do  not 
What  even  heaven  itself  has  never  done, — 


246  COLUMBUS. 

Give  patience  to  a  world  of  restlessness ! 

Oh,  God,  I  think  I  serve  thee.     Give  me  power 

To  calm  these  minds,  as  Christ  could  calm  the 

sea. 
Enter — Left,  from  the  hatchway — ESCOBAR,  ROL- 

DAN,  PINTOR;  and  from  other  Entrances,  Right 

and  Left,  SANCHEZ,  GUTIERREZ  and  others. 

Well,  what  is  wrong? 
ESCOBAR.  We  came  to  tell  you,  Senior, 

We  think  it  time  that  we  turn  back. 
COLUMBUS.  Turnback? 

A  strange  idea  that ! 
SEVERAL.  Oh,  strange ! 

COLUMBUS.  Why,  yes, 

With  what  we  saw  to-day — the  herbs   and 

flowers. 

PINTOR.     Humph!  they  were  seen  before, 
COLUMBUS.  But  not  the  same — 

Not  fresh  and  green ;  and  then  the  small  shore- 
fish 

And  birds  too,  birds  of  kinds  that  never  sleep, 

Nor  light,  except  on  land — the  singing  birds 

That  perched  upon  our  mast. 
ESCOBAR.  If  there  were  land — 

Three  times  it  has  been  called — we  now  have 

passed  it. 

COLUMBUS.     We  may  be  in  a  bay. 
ESCOBAR.  You  would  not  steer 

As  Captain  Pinzon  wished. 


COLUMBUS.  247 

COLUMBUS.  The  birds  all  flew 

This  other  way.     I  thought  them  flying  home. 

PINTOR.     We  are  not  birds. 

ESCOBAR.  Are  going  home  though. 

ROLDAN.  Yes. 

COLUMBUS.     A    pleasant    swim!    The    ship    is 
going  on. 

SEVERAL.     No,  no. 

COLUMBUS.  Why,  men,  you  said  the  same 

before. 

Have  you  forgot  how  many  of  you  cried, 
Ay,  cried,  in  fear  of  burning  skies  above 
The  Teneriffe  volcano? — and  I  said 
It  would  not  harm  you.     Did  it  ?     Then  shot 

by 

Those  meteors;  and  I  said  they  too  would  pass. 
Did  I  mistake?  Then  tireless  western  winds; 
But  east  winds  turned  them.  Then  a  glassy 

sea; 
But  billows  broke  it.     Then  came  signs  of 

land; 

And  now  they  multiply,  as  I  had  hoped. 
If  right  so  far,  then  I  have  earned  your  trust. 

ESCOBAR.     Ugh !     Those  are  old  tales  now. 

SEVERAL.  Yes. 

COLUMBUS.  Let  them  be  so. 

The  land  toward  which  we  sail  is  not  unknown ; 
Those  who  have  seen  it  say,  that  all  the  gold 
In  all  of  Europe  grouped  and  fused  to  make 


248  COLUMBUS. 

A  single  mass,  would  hardly  form  one  cliff 
Of  endless  mountain  ranges  that  are  there. 
ROLDAN.     Hear  that  now! 

COLUMBUS.         They  would  be  enough  to  make 
A  lord,  at  home,  of  every  one  of  you 
Without  the  title;  but,  think  you,  the  court, 
The  courtiers,  would  not  wish  you  this  besides? 
You,  who  had  burned  through  unknown  dark 
ness  here 
More    brilliantly    than   comets    through    the 

sky?— 

I  mean  it,  for  the  trail  you  leave  behind 
Will  write  in  deathless  light  around  the  world 
The  endless  glory  of  our  Christian  Spain. 
ROLDAN  and  OTHERS.     Yes,  yes. 
ESCOBAR.  No,  no,  come  on ! 

(moving  toward  COLUMBUS,  and  urging  others  to  do 

the  same) . 

PINTOR  (to  ROLDAN  and  those  who  hold  back). 

Ay,  you  are  pledged. 
Lay  hands  upon  him.     Make  him  yield. 
ESCOBAR    approaches    COLUMBUS.     Pie    and 

BARTHOLOMEW  draw  their  swords. 
COLUMBUS  (to  ESCOBAR).  Stand  back. 

I  represent  the  king. 
ESCOBAR.  And  we  your  slaves? 

COLUMBUS.     Far  better  so  than  slaves  to  one 

another. 
Lay  hands  on  me,  not  I  alone  will  have 


COLUMBUS.  249 

A  score  of  masters.     Look  you  to  your  mates. 
You   pledged   yourselves   to   stand   together? 

What?— 

Have  you,  or  you,  no  foe  in  all  this  crew? 
And  now  you  place  your  life  in  that  foe's 

hands? 

When  all  he  needs  to  raise  himself  in  Spain 
Is  telling  truth — no  more — Humph!  will  he 

not  tell? 

Ay,  kill  me,  drown  me,  I  shall  be  avenged. 
When  bad  men  band,  then  traitors  fill  the 

camp; 

And,  if  a  fair  foe  fail,  the  foul  will  not, 
For  in  that  fight  are  God  and  devil  both. 
ROLDAN.     Humph!     I  must  not  be  found  here. 
PINTOR.     (leaving  the  mutineers.)  No,  nor  I. 

COLUMBUS  (to  BARTHOLOMEW).     At  last  the  tide 
has  turned.     Heaven  help  me  now. 

(to  the  sailors.) 

I  thought  that  I  had  officers  and  men 
Too  manly  to  see  one  man  stand  alone, — 
That  some  would  stand  beside  me.     Was  I 

wrong? 

SANCHEZ.        No. 
GUTIERREZ.  No. 

(ROLDAN  and  those  with  him  come  beside 
SANCHEZ  and  GUTIERREZ.  They  ap 
proach  COLUMBUS.  ESCOBAR  falls 
back.) 


250  COLUMBUS. 

COLUMBUS.  I  thank  you,  men.     I  hoped 

as  much. 

And  now — why  you  are  my  brave  crew  again ; — 
Have  been  so  brave,  I  could  not  bear  to  think 
That  you  could  fail  of  perfect  victory — 
Here,  too,  almost  in  sight.     How  you  would 

feel 
When,   after  that  next  voyage — which  now 

we  know 
That  some  one  else  would  make,  did  we  go 

home — 

You  saw  the  wreaths  and  wealth  that  you  alone 
Had  really  won,  deck  other's  heads  and  hands ! 
SANCHEZ.     Well  asked ! 
ROLDAN.  Ay,  ay. 

COLUMBUS.  You  had  forgotten  this. 

Well,  now  let  us  forget  what  just  has  happened. 
You  know,  men,  that  the  same  ship  holds  us 

all; 

And  all  that  comes  to  you  must  come  to  me. 
ROLDAN.     It  must. 

COLUMBUS.     Then  let  the  matter  rest.     Enough! 
Now  to  your  places. 

Exeunt — Left — into  the  hatchway — ES 
COBAR,  ROLDAN,  PINTOR  and  others; 
On  deck,  Right — SANCHEZ;  Left— 
GUTIERREZ.  COLUMBUS  continues 
to  BARTHOLOMEW. 

One  more  crisis  passed! 


COLUMBUS.  251 

How  many  further? — Lord,   how  long!  how 

long !    (He  looks  off  over  the  sea.) 
Because  a  soul  will  gaze  at  darkness  thus, 
It  does  not  prove  he  sees — mere  habit.     Ah! 
(A   slightly   moving   light  appears  in  the 
back  distance  at  the  Left;  i.e.,  in  the 
direction  in  which  the  ship  is  sailing; 
and  another  steady  light  at  the  Right.) 
COLUMBUS  (looking  at  the  Left  light) .     What  light 

is  that? 
BARTHOLOMEW.     It  cannot  be  the  Pinta's? — 

(looking  at  the  Right  light) . 
No;  it  sails  there. 
COLUMBUS.  And  yet,  I  thought — why  yes ; 

(looking  farther  to  the  Right). 
The  Nina  is  behind  too. 
BARTHOLOMEW.  Then  that  there  ? — 

(pointing  to  the  Left  light.) 
COLUMBUS.     It    cannot    be    a    star!    Are    we 

deceived?  (beckoning  to  the  Left  Rear.) 
Don  Gutierrez,  come  and  help  us,  please. 
Enter — Left    Rear — DON    GUTIERREZ. 

(all  salute.) 
COLUMBUS  (pointing  toward  the  Left  light). 

Can  you  see  anything  off  here? 
GUTIERREZ.  Why  yes — 

The  Pinta. 

COLUMBUS  (pointing  to  the  Right  light).     No;  is 
there. 


252  COLUMBUS. 

GUTIERREZ.  Humph !  so  it  is. 

The  Nina  is  ahead,  then? 
BARTHOLOMEW    (pointing   to   the   Right   again}. 

No,  look  back. 

GUTIERREZ.     Yet  some  ship's  light. 
COLUMBUS.  It  could  not  be  a  star? 

GUTIERREZ.     How  could  it  be? 
COLUMBUS.  The  Inspector  there :  ask  him. 

Inspector  ? 

(Calling  to  some  one  beyond  the  Right  Front). 

Enter — Right  Front — SANCHEZ  and  salutes. 
SANCHEZ.     Senior? 
COLUMBUS  (pointing  to  the  Left  light) 

Can  you  see  that  light  ? 
SANCHEZ  .     Where  ? 

COLUMBUS.         There,  beyond  the  Pinta's. 
SANCHEZ.  Yes.  I  thought 

The  Nina  was  behind  us. 
COLUMBUS  (pointing  to  the  Right  light).- 

So  she  is. 
SANCHEZ.     What?  can  another  ship  have  sailed 

off  here  ? 

COLUMBUS.    Another  ship,  eh?  Watch  it  further. 
GUTIERREZ.  Why,— 

I  think  it  moves. 

SANCHEZ.  It  does! 

COLUMBUS.  Not  up  and  down 

As  if  on  waves,  but  to  and  fro? 
GUTIERREZ.  Just  so! 


COLUMBUS.  253 

COLUMBUS.     And  some  long  distance  to  and  fro. 

(The  light  makes  this  motion.) 
SANCHEZ.  Shall  call 

The  others? 

COLUMBUS.       No,    not   yet — no   false   alarm! 
GUTIERREZ.     You  think  it  land? 
COLUMBUS  (nodding).  Inhabited  by  men. 

GUTIERREZ.     By  men? — Good  God! 
BARTHOLOMEW.       Yes,  you  may  well  say  good. 
GUTIERREZ.     I  think  I  see  what  seems  a  line 

of  surf. 
COLUMBUS.     Perhaps.     If  so,  the  Pinta  nears  it. 

Wait! 

Is  almost  daybreak.     We  shall  hear  her  gun. 
SANCHEZ.     Your  order  that  a  false  report  would 

stop 

The  starter's  chance  for  the  discovery-prize 
Will  keep  the  signal  back  till  all  are  sure. 
COLUMBUS.     Best  so!     If  blind  men  all  were 

born  blind,  none 

Were  cursed  by  losing  sight.  In  nights  like  this, 
Not  unawakened  hope  I  dread,  as  much 
As  wakening  disappointment. 

(The  report  of  a  gun  is  heard.) 

What  ?  so  soon  ? 
SANCHEZ.     It  must  be  true ! 
COLUMBUS.  No  doubt  of  it! 

GUTIERREZ.  No,  "none. 

(The  scene  is  gradually  becoming  brighter 


254  COLUMBUS. 

with  the  approaching  dawn.     Voices 
of  the  SAILORS  are  heard.} 
COLUMBUS.     The    sailors!     I    must    go    now. 

You  receive  them ; 

And  wait  till  I  return.     An  hour  as  grand 
As  this  one  should  be  welcomed  fittingly. 

Exit — Right — into  the  cabin,  COLUMBUS. 

Enter — Left— from  the  hold,  ESCOBAR,  ROLDAN, 

PINTOR,  and  others. 

Enter — Right — others. 

(ROLDAN  rushes  to  the  Left,  and  gazes  towards 

where  the  light  was  first  seen.) 
ESCOBAR.     A  false  report,  of  course! 

PINTOR.  Of  course,  but  then 

ROLDAN.     Good  heavens,  it  is  true! 
ESCOBAR.  True? 

ROLDAN.  There  is  land. 

ESCOBAR.     It  cannot  be. 
ROLDAN.  It  is.     Look  there. 

PINTOR  (contemptuously,  after  looking  not  exactly 
where  ROLDAN  points').  A  cloud. 

ROLDAN.     Cloud?     No.     As  clear  as  daylight, 

man.     Dry  land. 
ESCOBAR.     It  is,  hurrah! 
PINTOR.  You  think  so? 

ESCOBAR.  Are  you  blind? 

Is  no  mistake,  it  is  land! 

(to  the  other  SAILORS). 

Boys,  hurrah ! 


COLUMBUS.  255 

SAILORS.     Land,  land! 
ROLDAN.  No  doubt  of  it! 

SAILORS.  Hurrah ! 

(They  embrace  each  other  and  make  wild  demon 
strations  of  delight.) 
ESCOBAR  (looking  toward  the  Cabin  Entrance — 

and  calling  aloud). 
The  admiral ! 

ROLDAN.  Three  cheers ! 

PINTOR.  The  admiral ! 

ROLDAN.     He  does  not  know  it  yet? 
SANCHEZ.  Trust  him  for  that. 

SAILORS  (shouting}. 

The  admiral !     Hurrah !     The  admiral ! 
SANCHEZ.     "All  hail  the  Queen,"  now.     That 

will  fetch  him.     Sing. 
(All  remove  their  caps  and  chant  the  following): 

ALL  HAIL  THE  QUEEN.1 

All  hail  the  Queen. 
No  thrills  can  fill  the  lover's  breast 
For  that  first  love  he  loves  the  best, 
Like  ours  that  throb  to  each  appeal 

Of  her  in  whom,  enthroned  above 

1  "The  crew  were  now  assembled  on  the  decks  of  the 
several  ships,  to  return  thanks  to  God  for  their  prosperous 
voyage,  and  their  happy  discovery  of  land,  chanting  the 
Salve  Regina  and  other  anthems.  Such  was  the  solemn 
manner  in  which  Columbus  celebrated  all  his  discoveries." 
(Irving's  Columbus:  Book  VI.,  Chap.  I.) 


256  COLUMBUS. 

The  nation's  heart,  we  see,  we  fee! 
The  symbol  of  the  sway  we  love, 
The  while  we  hail  our  Queen. 

All  hail  the  Queen. 
No  cause  can  rouse  the  soul  of  strife 
In  men  who  war  for  child  and  wife, 
Like  ours  that,  where  her  battles  be, 

Know  not  of  rest  until  above 
The  foe  that  falls,  enthroned  we  see 

The  symbol  of  the  sway  we  love, 

The  while  we  hail  our  Queen. 

All  hail  the  Queen. 
No  loyalty  can  make  a  son 
Show  what  a  mother's  love  has  done, 
Like  ours  who  press  through  land  and  sea, 

Our  one  reward  to  find  above 
Our  gains  that  show  what  man  can  be, 

The  symbol  of  the  sway  we  love. 

The  while  we  hail  our  Queen. 

(While  this  song  is  being  sung,  the  scenery 
at  the  back  of  the  stage  moves  from 
Left  to  Right,  thus  representing  the 
gradual  approach  of  the  ship  to  land. 
Before  the  music  ceases,  COLUMBUS 
appears  in  full  uniform  on  the  platform 
at  the  Right  above  the  cabin.  He  is 
clothed  in  scarlet.  Behind  him  stands 
a  standard-bearer  holding  aloft  the 
royal  standard,  and  on  either  side  of 
this,  two  others  hold  the  banners  of 


COLUMBUS.  257 

the  enterprise,  emblazoned  with  a 
green  cross  flanked  by  the  letters  F  and 
Y,  the  initials  of  Fernando  and  Isabel. 
(Irving' s  Columbus.  Book  IV.,  Chap. 
L,  also  Book  VI.,  Chap.  I.) 
ROLDAN  (catching  sight  of  COLUMBUS). 

See  there ! 

ESCOBAR.     Ah,  there  he  is. 
SAILORS.  Hurrah!  hurrah! 

ESCOBAR  (shouting  to  COLUMBUS)  .     Ay,  you  were 

right — were  right ! 

ROLDAN.  As  he  is  always! 

ESCOBAR.     I  told  you  so. 
ROLDAN  (aside  to  ESCOBAR). 

You  did?— What  time  was  that? 
PINTOR.     The  Admiral  forever ! 
ROLDAN  (aside  to  PINTOR).     Ay,  since  when? 

(shouting  aloud.) 

Let  him  remember  who  have  been  his  friends. 
ESCOBAR.     Ay,  that  he  will. 
ROLDAN.  We  knew  you  would  succeed. 

PINTOR.     The  greatest  hour  that  Spain  has  ever 

known. 

ESCOBAR.     Gained   through   the   greatest  man 
that  Spain  has  had. 

(to  the  SAILORS.) 

Here,    swear    him    your    allegiance.     Down, 
men,  down. 
(All  fall  on  their  knees  before  COLUMBUS.) 

17 


258  COLUMBUS. 

COLUMBUS.     I  thank  you,  men,  both  for  my 
self  and  those 

Who  sent  us  forth;  and  join  with  you  to  swear 
Allegiance  to  our  sovereigns — more  than  this, 

(pointing  to  the  cross  upon  the  banner} , 
To  that  far  higher  Power  that  they  too  serve 
Whose  emblem  is  inscribed  upon  our  banner. 
In  that  we  conquer.     When  we  disembark 
Our  hands  will  plantthecross  justwhere  we  land. 
And  now — you  seem  exultant — I  confess 
To  awe  like  that  which  Moses  must  have  felt 
When  God's  own  hand  had  touched  him  as  it 

passed. 

I  cannot  stand — nay,  let  me  kneel  with  you 
With   praise,    thanksgiving,    and   new-vowed 
devotion. 

(They  all  kneel  beneath  the  standard,  and 
while  the  scenery,  moving  behind, 
represents  the  approach  to  land,  after 
a  feiu  moments  of  silence,  except  for 
the  music  of  the  orchestra,  they  chant 
the  following} : 

0  God  of  all  things  living, 

Our  Sovereign,  Saviour,  Guide, 
All  gifts  are  of  Thy  giving, 
All  gains  by  Thee  supplied. 
The  stars  that  make 
High  hopes  awake 
But  beacon  what  Thou  seest. 


COLUMBUS.  259 

The  stroke  and  stress 
That  earn  success 
Are  but  what  Thou  decreest. 
O  God  of  all  things  living, 

Our  Sovereign,  Saviour,  Guide, 
All  gifts  are  of  Thy  giving, 
All  gains  by  Thee  supplied. 

O  God,  all  good  bestowing 

On  souls  that  seek  Thy  way, 
Our  hearts,  with  joy  o'erflowing, 
Give  thanks  to  Thee  to-day. 
In  all  the  past 
Whose  blessings  last, 
Thy  presence  fills  the  story; 
And  all  the  gleams 
That  gild  our  dreams 
Obtain  from  Thee  their  glory. 
O  God,  all  good  bestowing 

On  souls  that  seek  Thy  way, 

Our  hearts  with  joy  o'erflowing, 

Give  thanks  to  Thee  to-day. 


CURTAIN.     END  OF  ACT  III. 


ACT  FOURTH. 

[SCENE  FIRST. — Reception  room  in  a  house  in 
Spain. 

Entrances — Right  and  Left. 

Enter — Left — BEATRIX. 
Enter — Right — COLUMBUS  and  DIEGO. 
BEATRIX.     Returned  ?     Thank  God ! 
COLUMBUS.  Yes,  God  alone  could  do  it. 

(to  DIEGO,  as  voices  are  heard  from  without.) 
In  pity  for  me,  Diego,  send  them  off; 
And  say  that  I  to-night  will  tell  them  all. 
Exit — Right — DIEGO. 

(to  BEATRIX.) 

How  fares  our  son,  Fernando? 
BEATRIX.  Grown  and  strong. 

Is  out  just  now — will  not  be  back  till  noon. 
I  thought  you  coming  when  I  heard  the  noise. 
COLUMBUS.     Ah,  yes,  as  I  remember,  when  I 

left, 

I  roused  a  noise  too. 
BEATRIX.  You  have  roused  one  now 

That  all  the  world  will  hear. 
COLUMBUS.  You  never  praise 

260 


COLUMBUS.  261 

A  wind,  because  it  makes  the  sea- waves  roar : 
It  may  be  empty,  and  it  may  do  harm. 
A  man  should  judge  men's  noises  at  their 
worth. 

BEATRIX.     To  think  I  ever  joined  with  them 
against  you ! 

COLUMBUS.     Why,  what  were  woman's  nature, 

void  of  fine 

Susceptibility  on  edge  to  play 
Society's  deft  weather-vane?     You  know 
Society  is  like  the  atmosphere : 
Is  always  round  us,  and  is  all  alike, — 
All  warm  in  sunshine  and  all  chill  in  storm. 
And  you — you  did  not  see  me  at  the  time, 
Surrounded  by  my  friends,  but  foes. 

BEATRIX.  If  you 

Had  heard  the  talk! 

COLUMBUS.  I  heard  too  much  of  it. 

BEATRIX.     You  found  the  land  though ! 

COLUMBUS.  Yes,  and  such  a  land! 

BEATRIX.     As  fair  as  this? 

COLUMBUS.  A  land  of  endless  May, 

And  set  in  seas  transparent  as  their  skies ; 
Where  every  kind  of  spice,  grain,  fruit  and 

flower 

Teems  in  green  valleys  that  need  not  be  tilled, 
All  crowned  on  high  by  mounts,  whose  gold 

and  gems 
Lie  on  the  surface. 


262  COLUMBUS. 

BEATRIX.  And  belong  to  you! — 

What  joy  to  feel  that  now  it  all  is  over! 
COLUMBUS.     All  never  will  be  over  in  this  world. 

The  great  care  passes,  but  trails  lesser  cares 

That  aggregate  no  less  of  worry. 
BEATRIX.  True; 

But  when  the  land  was  found 

COLUMBUS.  One  ship  was  wrecked; 

And  twice  returning,  too,  we  all  seemed  lost. 

If  so,  the  whole  would  have  been  lost  that  now 

Is  found. 

BEATRIX.  And  then? 

COLUMBUS.  I  vowed  a  pilgrimage, 

Wrote  out  our  story.     Like  the  wine  it  was, 

I  sealed  it  in  a  cask,  and  let  it  float. 
BEATRIX.     But  reached  the  land ! 
COLUMBUS.  Yes,  first  at  the  Azores 

As  wet  as  fish,  too.     That  was  why,  perhaps, 

The  Portuguese  there  spread  their  nets  for  us, 

And  not  their  tables. 
BEATRIX.  Nets? 

COLUMBUS.  To  trap  us,  yes. 

BEATRIX.     But  why? 
COLUMBUS.     To  get  our  charts,  resail  our  course, 

And  claim  the  credit  of  it. 
BEATRIX.  They  could  not 

Have  been  successful. 

COLUMBUS.  Not  if  we  had  lived. 

BEATRIX.     But  yet 


COLUMBUS.  263 

COLUMBUS.     No  but !     Our  ship  was  driven  then 
To  Portugal  itself — by  accident, 
Of  course:  a  storm  came  on — and  there  the 

court 
Were  soft  as  cats  are,  when  they  play  with 

mice. 

The  fur,  though,  did  not  wholly  glove  the  claw, 
Nor  cloak  a  plot  to  murder  us.     It  failed. 
Instead,  Francisco  de  Almeida  sails, 
With  secret  orders  from  the  envious  court, 
To  cross  the  sea,  and  make  our  gain  his  own. 
BEATRIX.     But  Spain  will  right  you,  give  you 

titles  ? — fame  ? 

COLUMBUS.     You  rate  them  first? 

BEATRIX.         But  wealth  will  come  with  them. 

COLUMBUS.     If  I  had  worked  for  these,  I  had 

not  lived 
The  life  I  have. 
BEATRIX.     If  you  have  not  worked  for  them 

In  part,  at  least,  you  are  not  what  I  thought. 
COLUMBUS.  How  so? 

BEATRIX.     You  mean  that  you  could  tamely 

waive 
Your   rights — your    children's    too — to    fame 

and  wealth  ? 

COLUMBUS.     I  see — I  had  not  thought. 
BEATRIX.  Oh,  yes;  a  mind 

May  be  so  wholly  filled  with  its  own  thoughts, 
They  crowd  out  thoughts  for  others. 


264  COLUMBUS. 

COLUMBUS.  Think  you  so? 

I  must  correct  the  fault. 
BEATRIX.  You  now  have  time. 

How  sweet  to  settle  down  upon  your  honors! 
COLUMBUS.     What,    what?— You   think    I    am 

prepared  for  that? 
BEATRIX.     You  are  not  young. 
COLUMBUS.  No ;  fifty-eight. 

BEATRIX.  Not  strong. 

COLUMBUS.     To-day  there  came  a  letter  from 

the  sovereigns. 

It  begs  my  presence  to  prepare  with  them 
A  second  expedition. 
BEATRIX.  You  to  lead  it? — 

You  will? 

COLUMBUS.     Why  not  ? 

BEATRIX.     Why,  you  have  earned  your  rest. 
COLUMBUS.     From  whence? — I   do  not  feel  it 
given  me  here. 

(placing  his  hand  on  his  heart.) 
BEATRIX.     Are    not    content    yet?— What    an 

appetite 

Has  man's  ambition !  all  that  gluts  to-day 
But  bringing  greater  hunger  for  the  morrow; 
A  fire  consuming  all  it  feeds  upon, 
Still  flaming  upward  and  beyond  it  all. 
COLUMBUS.     True ! — but  of  more  than  you  apply 

it  to,— 
Of  those  desires  that  are  but  of  the  soul. 


COLUMBUS.  265 

I  strove  to  find  the  Indies.     Are  they  found? 
To  plant  the  cross  in  all  those  lands;  and  yet 
Great  lands  wait  undiscovered. 
BEATRIX.  Other  ships 

Are  sure  to  sail  and  reach  them. 
COLUMBUS.  Ay,  they  may. 

But  all  that  I  can  know  is  that  the  call 
Has  come  to  me. 

BEATRIX.  Well,  well,  if  you  say  must, 

Perhaps  it  must  be.     Still — if  you  be  needed — 
You  think  you  are — mark  one  thing:  you  can 

make 
Your  own  terms  with  the  sovereigns. 

Enter — Right — DIEGO. 
COLUMBUS.  What? 

BEATRIX.  Your  terms- 

Demand  your  rights,  and  mine — your  son's 

and  mine. 
Enter — Left — a     MAID    who    speaks    aside    to 

BEATRIX. 
DIEGO  (aside  to  COLUMBUS).     Ah,  nothing  like 

a  she-hand,  skill 'd  in  needles, 
To  prick  man's  vanity,  and  gown  the  hurt 
In  vain  disguises !     When  unselfish  zeal 
Demands  investment  in  the  mail  of  force, 
He  that  of  old  had  spirit  to  inspire 
Swings  but  a  sword  that  cleaves  a  scar  for 
greed. 
(to  BEATRIX  who  is  looking  toward  him.} 


266  COLUMBUS. 

As  rich  must  he  be  as  a  king  ere  long. 
That  ought  to  satisfy  you. 
(to  COLUMBUS,  referring  to  the  crowd  outside  the 
house.}  Yes,  I  sent 

Them  off. 

BEATRIX  (to  the  two  men,  as  she  turns  from  talking 
to  the  MAID).     Excuse  me  for  a  moment. 
BEATRIX  bows  to  COLUMBUS  and  DIEGO, 
and  they  bow  to  her.     As  BEATRIX 
turns  away,  DIEGO  continues  to  talk 
aside  to  COLUMBUS,  shaking  his  head 
as  if  disapprovingly. 
Exeunt — Left — BEATRIX  and  MAID. 
DIEGO  (to  COLUMBUS,  as  if  continuing  a  conversa- 

tion) . 
Will  waive  that  then. — Now  tell  me  of  the 

people. 
COLUMBUS.     A  noble  race,  who  live  there  in  a 

state 

Almost  of  Paradise,  their  wants  but  few; 
And  nature  so  profuse — I  tell  you  truth— 
They  neither  toil  nor  spin. 
DIEGO.  Nor  spin?     Why  how 

About  their  clothing? 
COLUMBUS.  Is  not  needed. 

DIEGO.  What? 

COLUMBUS.     Oh,  you  get  used  to  that! 
DIEGO.  Then  how  about — 

Their  character  ? 


COLUMBUS.  267 

COLUMBUS.  Is  not  so  much  a  thing 

Of  clothes  as  Europeans  think,  perhaps. 

DIEGO.     But  then— 

COLUMBUS.     The  Turks  keep  faces  veiled;  turn 

all 

The  body  into  private  parts — what  for? 
If  ill-desire  be  fruit  of  thinking,  germed 
In  curiosity,  to  clear  away 
Some  underbrush,  and  let  in  light  might  help 
To  blight  the  marsh- weed,  and  reveal,  besides 
Part  of  the  beauty  that  brought  bliss  to  Eden. 

DIEGO.     You  mean 

COLUMBUS.     That  nothing  like  a  length  of  robe, 
Material  in  substance  and  suggestion, 
Can  stole  an  anti-spirit-ministry. 
It  bags  what  heaven  made  that  the  world  may 

deem 
The  bag  well  baited  for  a  game  of  hell. 

DIEGO.     You  talk  in  riddles. 

COLUMBUS.  Read  a  page  or  two 

From  human  nature,  they  are  solved.     Out 

there, 

Except  with  chiefs — it  is  the  same,  you  know, 
With  our  high  classes — people  live  in  pairs, 
As  birds  do;  and,  myself,  I  saw  no  hint 
Of  lust  or  competition.     They  all  seem 
To  love  their  neighbors  as  themselves,   and 

own 
All  things  in  common.     Why,  to  us  they  gave 


268  COLUMBUS. 

Whatever  we  could  ask;  and  often  too 
Without  the  dimmest  prospect  of  return. 
DIEGO.     They  welcomed  you? 
COLUMBUS.    They  thought  us  fresh  from  heaven : 
Our  flesh  was  fair;  that  wide,  wild  sea  our 

slave. 

Oh,  what  a  race  to  be  made  Christians  of! 
DIEGO.     What  for? 

COLUMBUS.     Why,    only    give    such    men   reli 
gion 

DIEGO.     With    lives    of    love,    and    welcoming 

guests  from  heaven — 

Where  would  you  find  much  more  in  Christian 
Spain  ? 

COLUMBUS.     Well,  but 

DIEGO.  Precisely  what   I  mean — a  butt. 

COLUMBUS.     You  always  will  be  butting  some 

thing. 

DIEGO.  Yes, 

A  family  trait  with  both  of  us,  I  think. 
Were  I  a  man  of  action  like  yourself, 
I  might  not  doubt  but  do. 
COLUMBUS.  Not  undo,  eh? — 

You  mean  you  doubt  my  statements  ? 
DIEGO.  Hardly  that, 

But  I  was  thinking 

COLUMBUS.  Thinking  has  its  dangers. 

DIEGO.     Yes,  but  for  it  I  should  have  been  a 
priest. 


COLUMBUS.  269 

At  present,  am  confessor  but  to  you. 

And  my  advice  is, — not  to  say  to  others 

What  you  have  said  to  me. 
COLUMBUS.  Why? 

DIEGO.  It  would  make 

The  world  suspect  you. 
COLUMBUS.  How  ? — and  what  ? 

DIEGO.  WThy,    say, 

Your  faith. 

COLUMBUS.     Impossible!      God     knows — they 
know — 

The  purpose  of  my  life. — 
DIEGO.  Your  life!  But  faith — 

Seems  not  to-day  a  thing  of  life,  but  talk; 

And  God — He  has  not  much  to  do  with  it. 

A  man  of  faith,  is  one  whose  faith  in  those 

To  whom  he  talks  will  make  him  talk  their 
thoughts. 

None  here  will  think  that  what  you  say  can 

be. 

COLUMBUS.     Not  even  you? 
DIEGO.  Why,  yes, — but  yes  and  no. 

The  power  that  makes  imagination  burst 

Through  limits   of   our   world,  as  you  have 
done, 

To  find  this  new  world,  makes  it  pass  beyond 
them. 

The  glories  of  that  sunset-land  may  all 

Be  in  the  land  you  saw,  or  in  the  sky. 


270  COLUMBUS. 

COLUMBUS.     I  see  your  meaning. 

Enter — Left — B  EATRIX  . 

DIEGO.  If  your  mounts  of  gold  too 

Do  not  come  tumbling  very  speedily 
To  fill  the  itching  lap  of  Spain,  why  then, 
We  know  who  will  be  blamed. 
COLUMBUS.  Oh,  but  they  will! 

BEATRIX.     Now,  gentlemen,  if  you  will  walk  in 

here  (motioning  toward  the  Left,} 
A  luncheon  waits :  and  I  have  news  for  you, 
Both  bright  and  black. 

COLUMBUS.  Humph ! — nothing  bright  can  come, 
But  brings  beside  it  something  in  the  shade. 
BEATRIX.     The  court,  so  Dona  Bobadilla  writes, 

Will  welcome  you  in  state  at  Barcelona. 
DIEGO.     Well,  that  is  bright.     Now  tell  us  what 

is  black  ? 
BEATRIX.     That    Pinzon's    crew   has    reached 

Bayonne;  and  there 
The   man    has   claimed   your   honors   as   his 

own. 
COLUMBUS.     What  perfidy ! — Would  make  us  all 

turn  back 

Before  we  found  the  land,  and  after  that 
A  claim  like  this ! 
DIEGO.  To  herald  his  delight 

In  what  he  made  you  do ! — Yet  not  surprising ! 
The  train  of  genius  marshals  everywhere 
Distrust  before  success,  and  envy  after. 


COLUMBUS.  271 

Exeunt — Right — BEATRIX,        COLUMBUS       and 
DIEGO. 1 


SCENE  SECOND. — A  temporary  Pavilion,  erected 
in  front  of  the  royal  residence  at  Barcelona.  In 
the  extreme  background,  beyond  an  open  place, 
is  the  exterior  of  the  house  oj  Cardinal  Mendoza. 
In  front  of  this  house,  are  awnings  or  curtains, 
which,  at  the  conclusion  of  SCENE  SECOND,  are 
to  be  lifted  or  drawn  aside  in  order  to  prepare 
for  SCENE  THIRD.  To  the  Right  are  parts  of 
the  Palace,  to  the  Left  are  pillars  supporting 
the  Pavilion.  Within  the  Pavilion,  is  an 
elevated  platform  on  which  are  four  throne 
chairs. 

Entrances: — Right  Rear — into  the  open  place 
beyond  the  Palace;  Right  Front — in  front  of  the 
Palace;  Left  Rear — open  place  beyond  the  Pavil 
ion;  Left,  farther  forward — between  the  pillars 
of  the  Pavilion;  and  Left  Front — at  the  side  of 
the  Pavilion. 

The  curtain  rising  reveals  the  KING  and 
QUEEN  and  PRINCE  JUAN,  seated  upon  the 
throne,  attended  by  the  dignitaries  of  their  court 
and  the  principal  nobility  of  Castile,  Valentia, 
Catalonia  and  Aragon;  also  GONZALEZ,  ARA- 
NA,  FONSECA,  BREVIESCA  and  others.  The 
royal  choir  are  at  the  extreme  Left  Front,  and 


272  COLUMBUS. 

spectators  of  the  more  common  sort  at  the  Right 
and  in  the  Rear.     All  seem  enthusiastic. 
Music  by  orchestra  and  choir,  with  the  following 
words: 

HAIL  TO  THE  HERO,  HOME  FROM  STRIFE. 

Hail  to  the  hero,  home  from  strife, 
Pride  of  our  hearts  and  hope  of  our  life, 
Hail  to  his  glancing  crest  and  plume, 
Flashed  like  lightning  into  the  gloom. 
Hail  to  the  grit  that,  when  borne  from  view, 
Out  of  the  darkness  brought  him  through, 
Sprout  of  the  slough-pit,  bud  of  the  thorn, 

After  the  night 

The  light  of  the  morn. 

Crown  him  with  flowers  and  cull  them  bright, 
Crown  him,  the  man  of  the  land's  delight. 

Hail  to  the  hero,  home  from  strife, 
Pride  of  our  hearts  and  hope  of  our  life. 
Hail  to  the  ring  of  the  voice  that  taught 
Drumming  and  roaring  the  rhythm  of  thought. 
Hail  to  the  tone  that  could  change  to  a  cheer 
Groan  and  shriek  of  a  startled  fear, 
Hushing  to  rills  the  flood  that  whirred, 

Chorusing  night 

With  songs  of  the  bird. 

Shout  him  a  welcome,  and  shout  with  might, 
Shout  for  the  man  of  the  land's  delight. 

Enter — Right  Rear — during  the  song,  the  following 

procession: 
First  come  SOLDIERS  who  march  across  the 


COLUMBUS.  273 

stage  to  the  Left  Rear — then  halt, 
turn  toward  the  audience,  and  stand 
on  guard  at  the  Rear.  Following  the 
soldiers,  surrounded  by  a  brilliant 
throng  of  Spanish  cavaliers,  comes 
COLUMBUS.  He  is  on  horseback,  but 
dismounts  at  the  entrance  of  the  pavil 
ion  and  enters  it.  As  he  does  so,  the 
KING,  QUEEN  and  PRINCE  rise  to 
welcome  him.  COLUMBUS  kneels,  the 
KING  instantly  takes  his  hand  and 
motions  to  him  to  seat  himself  as  they 
do  on  the  slightly  elevated  platform. 
He  is  the  only  one  besides  the  KING, 
QUEEN  and  PRINCE  who  is  seated. 
While  the  KING,  QUEEN,  and  COL 
UMBUS  continue  to  talk,  there  come 
men  bearing  various  kinds  of  parrots 
together  with  stuffed  birds  and  animals 
of  unknown  species  and  rare  plants 
supposed  to  be  of  precious  qualities. 
A  display  is  also  made  of  Indian 
coronets,  bracelets,  and  other  decora 
tions  of  gold.  Last  of  all  come  Indians 
brought  from  America.  They  are 
painted  according  to  their  savage 
fashion,  and  decorated  with  their 
national  ornaments.  As  those  who 
are  in  the  procession  approach  the 

18 


274  COLUMBUS. 

pavilion,    each    in    turn    salutes    the 
KING  and  QUEEN,  who  remain  sitting 
as  also  does  COLUMBUS. 
(See  Irving' s  COLUMBUS:    Book  V., 
Chapter  VI.) 
Enter — Right  Front — DIEGO  and  BEATRIX,  and 

stand  watching  the  ceremonies. 
KING   (just  as  COLUMBUS  seats  himself  beside 

him) . 

Well  done,  thou  good  and  faithful  servant. 
QUEEN.  Yes, 

The  land  was  where  you  said  it  was. 
COLUMBUS.  Not  more 

Than  eighty  leagues  from  where  I  reckoned  it. 
QUEEN.     A  rich  land  too? 

COLUMBUS  (motioning  to  the  attendants  who  in 

marching  past  exhibit,  as  he  mentions  them, 

the  different  objects  which  they  are  carrying) . 

You  see  what  we  have  brought: — 

These  birds  and  animals  unknown  to  Spain, 

All  promising  vast  wealth  in  plumes  and  furs; 

These  trees  and  plants  that  grow  like  reeds  in 

swamps, 

And  covered  thick  as  leaves  with  ready  food; 
These  aromatic  herbs,  in  which  all  forms 
Of  sickness  find  a  sure  and  natural  cure; 
This  gold  that  lies  upon  the  soil  like  dust, 
Or  else  like  pebbles  tumbling  from  the  cliffs, 
And  easily  moulded  into  ornaments ; 


COLUMBUS.  275 

These  pearls  and  gems  that  line  the  river-beds; 
And  these  brave  people,  sons  of  God  like  us, 
With  generous  natures  and  compliant  wills, 
Who  met  us  kneeling,  as  we  knelt  on  shore, 
With  reverent  souls  prepared  by  heaven  itself 
To  welcome  us  as  heavenly  messengers ; 
And  who  to  be  made  whole  in  holiness 
Need  but  the  cleansing  water  of  the  church. 
Are  these  not  eloquent  beyond  the  power 
Of  mortal  lips? 

QUEEN.  They  are. 

KING.  They  are. 

ALL.  Yes,  yes. 

[COLUMBUS.     But  what  that  land  contains  is  in 

supply 

As  far  beyond  the  treasure  here,  as  is 
A  whole  vast  continent  beyond  the  store 
That  can  be  packed  in  one  small  vessel.'     Yes, 
That  realm  of  boundless  wealth  in  rock  and 

soil 

And  boundless  progress  for  the  state  and  soul, 
Past  all  that  human  fancy  can  conceive, 
Lies  there,  embed  in  crystal  seas  and  skies, 
A  wondrous  gift,  fresh  from  the  hand  of  God, 
As  if  untarnished  by  the  touch  of  man, 
Awaiting  your  most  Christian  Majesties.] 

KING  (standing,  as  all  do) .     Give  God  the  praise. 

PEOPLE.  Thank  God.     Amen,  amen. 

KING     (to     COLUMBUS,     who    when    addressed, 


276  COLUMBUS. 

descends  from  the  platform).     You  hear 
the  people  and  their  whole-souled  thanks. 
We  but  fulfill  their  wishes,  crowning  you 
With  every  proof  of  royal  approbation. 
We  now  decree  that,  through  all  time  hence 
forth, 

You  shall  be  known  as  Admiral,  Viceroy, 
And,  if  once  more  you  cross  the  sea  for  us, 
Commander-General  of  all  armaments, 
And  Governor  of  all  realms  awaiting  there, 
The  bearer  of  the  royal  seal,  with  power 
To  name  your  own  successor  and  to  will 
Your  own  inheritance;  and  evermore 
These  arms  here  are  decreed  your  family. 

Enter — Left  Rear — an  attendant  bearing 
a  banner  in  which  the  royal  arms,  the 
castle  and  lion,  are  quartered  with  a 
group  of  islands  surrounded  by  waves 
and  under  them  the  motto: 

11  To  Castile  and  Leon 
Columbus  gave  a  new  world" 
(See  Irving' s  COLUMBUS  :   Book  V.,  Chapter  VII.) 
DIEGO  (at  the  extreme  Right  Front — to  BEATRIX). 

You  think  he  needed  all  those  titles? 
BEATRIX.  Why? 

DIEGO.     I  think  they  sound  like  you. 
BEATRIX.  Well,  what  of  that  ? 

He  ought  to  make  his  own  terms  with  the 
sovereigns, — 


COLUMBUS.  277 

Demand  his  rights,  and  mine — my  son's  and 

mine. 
DIEGO.     When     hunting    sometimes,     I     have 

found  that  birds 

Of  brightest  plumage  are  the  soonest  shot. 
This  is  a  world  where  many  men  go  hunting. 
KING  (continuing  to  COLUMBUS). 

And  more  than  this:  of  all  the  ships  in  Spain 
We  authorize  your  choice  of  which  you  will, 
With  power  to  force  each  captain,  pilot,  crew, 
Or  owner  of  a  vessel,  arms  or  stores, 
To  do  your  bidding;  and  besides  we  pledge 
Two-thirds  of  all  the  royal  revenues 
Derived  from  our  church  tithes,  and  all  that 

comes 

From  confiscating  all  the  property 
Of  all  the  Jews,  whom  now,  to  yield  us  this, 
We  banish  from  our  realm. 
PEOPLE  (with  fervor  and  exultation) . 

God  bless  the  king ! 

FONSECA.     God  bless  your  Christian  Majesties! 
OTHERS.  God  bless! 

[COLUMBUS.     You  do  me  honor,  overmuch,   I 

fear. 

And  I  too  would  give  praise  where  all  is  due; 
And  that  with  deeds,  not  words.     In  view,  this 

day, 

Of  all  the  wealth  that,  with  the  power  you 
give, 


278  COLUMBUS. 

Is  destined  now  to  come  to  me,  I  vow 
To  raise  and  arm,  inside  of  twice  four  years, 
Four  thousand  horse  and  twice  as  many  foot, 
And  just  as  many  more  in  five  years  more, 
To  drive  to  death  the  heathen  Saracen 
And  wrest  from  him  the  Holy  Sepulchre. 
PEOPLE.     Oh,  God!  we  thank  thee! 
OTHERS.  Glory  to  the  Lord!] 

KING.       Now    let    us,  all    together,    seek    the 

church, 
And  praise  Him,   as  is  meet  for  these  vast 

boons 

Vouchsafed  to  Christian  Spain,  there  to  con 
vert  (motioning  toward  the  INDIANS.) 
By  holy  baptism  these  heathen  souls. 
ARANA  (to  FONSECA,  exultingly). 

The  day  begins  when  all  the  earth  and  all 
Its  wealth  shall  be  converted  unto  us. 
Exeunt — Left — KING,  QUEEN,  PRINCE,  COLUM 
BUS,  Courtiers,  Indians,  etc. 
Exeunt — Right — DIEGO,  BEATRIX  and  others. 
(While  the  rest  are  leaving  the  choir  chant  a? 
follows:) 

Oh  soul,  what  earthly  crown 

Is  bright  as  his  renown 

Whose  tireless  race 
Outruns  the  world's  too  halting  pace, 
To  reach  beyond  the  things  men  heed 
That  which  they  know  not  of,  but  need! 


COLUMBUS.  279 

Oh  soul,  what  man  can  be 

As  near  to  Christ  as  he 

Who  looks  to  life 

Not  first  for  fame  and  last  for  strife; 
But  shuns  no  loss  nor  pain  that  brings 
The  world  to  new  and  better  things! 

Exeunt — Left — Choir. 

Awnings  in  front  of  the  house  of  MENDOZA  rise 
revealing  Scene  Third. 


SCENE  THIRD: — Interior  of  a  banqueting  hall  in 
the  house  of  MENDOZA.  A  table  crosses  the 
stage  at  the  Rear.  Behind  it  in  the  Center,  on  a 
seat  slightly  raised  above  the  rest,  is  COLUMBUS. 
At  the  right  end  of  the  table  is  MENDOZA:  at  the 
left  end,  FONSECA  and  BREVIESCA.  Others 
arranged  as  suits  convenience. 

BREVIESCA  (to  FONSECA). 

What  native  here  has  ever  yet  received 
Such    royal    honors? — Why,    the    sovereigns 

both 

Stood  up  to  greet  him,  hesitated,  too, 
To  let  him  kneel,  and  sat  him  in  their  presence. 

FONSECA.     He  sat,  too,  on  the  throne. 

BREVIESCA.  I  never  saw 

A  Spainard  treated  thus. 

FONSECA.  He  takes  it  all 

As  if  his  due. 


280  COLUMBUS. 

BREVIESCA.      Wait! — let  me  put  him  down — 
In  thought,  at  least. 
(to  COLUMBUS,  who  sits  playing  with  an  egg  on 

the  table.) 

Say,  Admiral,  do  you  think 
If  you  had  not  made  this  discovery 
That  no  one  else  in  Spain  here  could  have  done 

it? 

COLUMBUS.     That  seems  a  new  idea. 
MENDOZA.  So  it  is. 

COLUMBUS.     I  never  asked  myself  about  that 

yet — 

Oh,  by  the  way,  can  any  of  you  here 
Make  this  thing  stand  on  end? 

(GONZALEZ,  BREVIESCA  and  FONSECA  be 
gin  to  experiment,  as  do  others,  with 
eggs  lying  on  the  table  near  them.) 
FONSECA.  An  egg? 

COLUMBUS.  An  egg. 

MENDOZA.     Can  it  be  done? 
COLUMBUS.  Why,  yes,  you  try  it. 

MENDOZA  (trying).  No; 

I  give  it  up. 
FONSECA.  And  I. 

COLUMBUS  (to  BREVIESCA). 

You  give  it  up? 

BREVIESCA.     I  fail  to  see  how — 
COLUMBUS    (setting  the  egg  down  on  its  small 
end  with  enough  force  to  break  the  shell 


COLUMBUS.  28l 

and  make  it  stand}.      Now  you  see  it — 
there! 

MENDOZA.     Oh ! 
BREVIESCA.         That  is  nothing! 
COLUMBUS.  Yes,  like  other  things, 

Is  easy  enough,  when  once  you  see  it  done. 
(Laughter.) 


CURTAIN.     END  OF  ACT  IV. 


ACT  FIFTH. 

SCENE  FIRST: — A  camp  on  the  Island  of  His- 
paniola,  Backing,  a  clearing,  amid  woods  with 
thick  forests  in  the  distance.  At  the  Right  and 
Left,  trees;  at  the  Left  near  the  Front,  the  hut  of 
COLUMBUS.  Entrances  at  the  Right — Rear, 
and  Front — between  trees;  at  the  Left — Rear, 
behind  the  hut  of  COLUMBUS  ;  farther  forward, 
opening  into  this  hut;  and  Front,  between  trees. 
Enter — Right  Rear — ESCOBAR  and  GAMEZ. 

ESCOBAR.     Ojeda,  when  his  boats  were  on  the 

coast, 

Said  that  at  home  the  Admiral's  cause  was  lost. 
Our  notes  have  reached  there.     They  have 

learned  at  last, 

How  Spaniards,  ay,  and  Spanish  nobles  too, 
Are  lorded  over  by  this  foreigner. 

GAMEZ.     And  now  he  has  been  superseded? 

ESCOBAR.  Yes, 

By  Bobadilla. 

GAMEZ.         Who  is  he? 

ESCOBAR.  Enough, 

If  but  a  Spaniard. 

282 


COLUMBUS.  283 

GAMEZ.  Strange,  though,  all  the  same! 

[ESCOBAR.    I  hear  Breviesca  and  his  bishop  there, 
Who  was  Fonseca,  now  rule  everything; 
That  they  it  was,  who  got  the  crown  to  give 
Ojeda  all  the  Admiral's  charts  and  half 
His  rights  too ;  and  would  grant  indulgences 
Without  a  stint  if  they  could  have  their  way 
To  any  here  who  struck  him  down. 

GAMEZ.  Why  so?] 

ESCOBAR.     You  never  heard  about  his  impu 
dence, 
When  brought  before  the  bishops,  years  ago? 

GAMEZ.     At  Salamanca,  yes;  but  he  was  right. 

ESCOBAR.     Or  how  he  knocked  down  Breviesca, 

when 

Fonseca's  messenger? — Besides,  who  wants 
To  blacken  Spain  with  shade  from  Genoa? 
Well,  Bobadilla's  men  have  come;  and  when 
His  troopers  flash  in  sight  here,  why,  these  eyes 
That  have  been  straining  so  to  see  them  come 
Will  scratch  some  blinks  to  cure  their  vision's 
itching. 

Enter — Right  Front — an  old  INDIAN,  and  advances 

toward  ESCOBAR,  who  addresses  him. 
Humph!     Who  are  you,  old  cove? — What? — 

Clear  the  air. 
Stand  off  a  white  man's  shadow. 

INDIAN.  Me  would  see 

The  Admiral. 


284  COLUMBUS. 

ESCOBAR.     Use  your  eyes  then.     Are  you  blind? 

INDIAN.     Ale  thought  you  know 

Enter — Left  Rear — COLUMBUS,  and  listens. 
ESCOBAR.     What  right  had  you  to  think? 
And  if  we  know,  is  it  our  business 
To  do  your  errands  for  you? 
(INDIAN,   seeing   COLUMBUS,   passes  toward  the 

Left  Rear.) 

GAMEZ  (laughingly  to  ESCOBAR).       Settled  him. 
COLUMBUS  (to  INDIAN). 

What  now  ? 
INDIAN  (to  COLUMBUS). 

Me  wants  to  see  you. 
COLUMBUS  (motioning  toward  his  cabin). 

Yes,  but  wait 
In  there  a  moment,  please. 
Exit — Left — into  the  hut  of  COLUMBUS,  the  INDIAN. 
COLUMBUS  goes  on  to  ESCOBAR. 

It  would  be  wise 
To  keep  the  red-men  friends;  and  friendship's 

light 

Reflects  but  what  is  kindled  in  ourselves. 
Extinguish  it  within,  and  soon  without 
We   find   our   world   in   darkness. — Now,    to 

work. 

[The  trenches  must  be  dug,  and  no  delay. 
They  threaten  an  attack. 
GAMEZ.  Am  I  a  man 

For  work  like  that? 


COLUMBUS.  285 

COLUMBUS.  Like  what  ? 

ESCOBAR.  The  work  that  lets 

These  common  laborers  wipe  their  dirty  paws 
Upon  one's  coat. 

COLUMBUS.  Then  take  it  off. 

GAMEZ.  Ay,  ay; 

And  grovel  at  their  level. 
COLUMBUS.  Does  your  rank 

Depend  upon  your  coat? — pray  heaven  that 

you 

Be  born  again,  a  new  man  and  a  true  one. 
GAMEZ.     You  did  not  promise  this  work,  when 

we  sailed. 
COLUMBUS.     The  Spaniards  had  not  shown  their 

lust  and  greed, 

Denied  the  native  women,  killed  the  men, 
And,  sent  in  squadrons  to  preserve  the  peace, 
All  grasping  for  the  whole  of  all  they  saw, 
Beset  their  comrades  like  a  set  of  bulls 
Becrimsoned  with  each  other's  gore.     Mere 

brutes ! 

No  wonder  they  have  disenchanted  thus 
The  people  who  at  first  believed  them  gods. 
Now  get  you  gone — no  waiting ! 

(COLUMBUS  turns  toward  his  hut.'} 
ESCOBAR  (to  GAMEZ,  shaking  his  fist  at  COLUM- 

BUS'S  back) .  Yes,  until 

We  get  you  gone,  which  will  not  take  us  long.] 
Exeunt — Right — GAMEZ    and    ESCOBAR. 


286  COLUMBUS. 

COLUMBUS  (going  to  his  cabin  and  motioning  the 

INDIAN  to  come  out.) 
Well  now,  my  friend,  what  is  it? 
INDIAN.  White  man  kill 

Our  men  and  steal  our  women. 
COLUMBUS.  Yes — and  I? 

INDIAN.     Kill  white  man. 
COLUMBUS.  What? 

Enter — Left   Rear — BARTHOLOMEW,   and   stands 

by  COLUMBUS. 

INDIAN.  We  Injun  call  you  men 

Great-Spirit-men.     Poor  Injun  when  he  die, 
When  bad  go  here,  when  good  go  there. 

(pointing  first  down  and  then  up.) 
COLUMBUS.  What,  you — 

You  Indians  think  this? 
BARTHOLOMEW.  I  shall  write  that  home. 

Is  more  than  some  there  seem  to  think. 
COLUMBUS.  It  is. 

(to  INDIAN.) 

And  what  of  that,  my  friend? 
INDIAN.  White-spirit-chief 

Send  bad  men  here  and  good  men  there. 

(pointing  first  down  and  then  up.) 
COLUMBUS.  I  see — • 

Put  down  thebad,put  up  the  good.  Quite  right ! 
And  I  will  try  to  learn  the  lesson,  friend. 
INDIAN  (pointing  in  a  half-frightened  way  toward 
the  Right). 


COLUMBUS.  287 

Bad  man  come  there. 

(BARTHOLOMEW  steps  toward  the  Right.} 
COLUMBUS.     Humph,   humph,   please  leave  us 

then; 
And  wait  in  here  again. 

(motioning  toward  his  hut.) 

Exit — Left — into   the   hut,    INDIAN.     COLUMBUS 

turns  toward  BARTHOLOMEW. 

Whom  have  we  coming? 
BARTHOLOMEW.     A  crowd  of  captives — women, 

as  I  think. 

The  men  with  them  are  Roldan's. 
COLUMBUS.  Only  force 

Can  deal  with  them; — are  all  old  criminals. 
Suppose  you  bring  a  guard  here. 
BARTHOLOMEW.  Yes,  I  will. 

Exit — Left — BARTHOLOMEW. 

Enter — Right — PINTOR. 
COLUMBUS  (to  PINTOR).     Back,  Pintor? — Who 

are  with  you? 

PINTOR.  Household  gods. 

COLUMBUS.     Whose  are  they? 
PINTOR.  Ours. 

COLUMBUS.     Oh,  yours ? — how  came  they  yours ? 
PINTOR.     By  right  of  conquest. 
COLUMBUS.  What? 

PINTOR.  We  killed  their  men. 

COLUMBUS.     And  left  them  widows? 
PINTOR.  No ;  we  made  them  brides. 


288  COLUMBUS. 

We  thought  this  kinder  than  to  leave  them 

widows. 

COLUMBUS.     Law-breakers! 
PINTOR.       Pugh !  with  all  that  you  have  seized, 

Made  slaves  of,  sent  to  Spain  and  sold 

COLUMBUS.     But  they  were  captives  from  our 
foes. 

Enter — Left — BARTHOLOMEW,  GUTIERREZ 
and  a  guard  who  cross  the  stage  at  the 
back,    and    march    forward    between 
PINTOR  and  the  Right  Side. 
PINTOR.  Well  I 

Take  any  man  who  flushes  red  all  over, 
As  they  do  when  I  meet  them,  for  a  foe. 
COLUMBUS.     The  slaves  we  sent  to  Spain  were 

taken  there 

To  be  made  Christians  of. 
PINTOR.  And  so  with  us — 

Nice  Christians,  too;  for  we  shall  have  them 

washed 
And  not  made  slaves,  but  take  them  to  our 

homes, 

And  let  them  lead  a  free  and  easy  life. 
[COLUMBUS.     You  fail  to  see  the  danger?     Why, 

their  tribe 

Will  massacre  us  all;  if  not,  your  vices 
Will  bring  you  hell  here,  even  while  you  live. 
PINTOR.     You  know  my  story — was  condemned 
to  death — 


COLUMBUS,  289 

For   nothing,    though — and    then    the    court 

decreed, 

Instead  of  this,  that  I  should  come  out  here; 
And  if  I  make  it  hell,  it  seems  to  me, 
In  hell  is  where  they  want  me.] 
COLUMBUS  (to  GUTIERREZ).     Take  this  man, 
Remove   his   arms,   and   march   him   to   the 
works. 

(To  PINTOR.) 

Hereafter  keep  a  hold  upon  your  tongue. 
[PiXTOR.     Ay,  Senior;  but  be  not  so  hard  on 

me. 

This  land  needs  peopling.] 
Exit — Left — GUTIERREZ     and     SOLDIERS     with 

PlXTOR. 

[BARTHOLOMEW.  And  will  need  it  more, 

If  Spain  send  more  of  those  vile  wretches  here. 
We  all  may  be  killed  off. 
COLUMBUS.  And  rightly  so. 

BARTHOLOMEW.     Had  I  my  way,  a  brute  forever 

kicking 

Against  the  law  should  go  in  bit  and  bridle; 
Ay,  ay,  to  see  a  surgeon  too.     A  touch 
Of  horse-play — there  were  cuttings  that  would 

cure  him 
And  all  his  kind.     The  best  should  let  their 

land 

Be  peopled  only  by  the  best. 
COLUMBUS.  That  might 

19 


290  COLUMBUS. 

Be  wise;  but  where,  pray,  would  you  find  the 

best?] 

No  man  can  tell  which  curse  a  country  most ; — • 
Its  gentlemen  who  feel  above  all  work; 
Or  workmen  so  far  down  they  feel  beneath 
All  obligation  to  be  gentlemen. 
As  for  the  first,  heaven  grant  they  soon  find 

out 

That    this   new   world    is   not   a    place    for 
I          them. 

As  for  the  second,  if  we  plan  no  way 
To  keep  them  on  the  other  side  the  sea, 
Farewell  to  all  the  good  we  hope  for  here. 

[Enter — Left — GUTIERREZ  . 
What  now? 
GUTIERREZ  (handing  COLUMBUS  a  note). 

We  found  this  when  we  searched  him. 
COLUMBUS.  Ay? 

It  seems  not  mine. 
GUTIERREZ.  Perhaps  it  might  be  well 

For  you  to  read  it. 
COLUMBUS  (reading  it). 

So?— I  will.     Why,  why? 
(to  BARTHOLOMEW.) 
Bartholomew,  a  new  conspiracy! 
BARTHOLOMEW.     But  that  man  could  not  write. 
COLUMBUS.  Oh  no;  not  he! 

He  merely  carries  it  from  one  who  can. 
(handing  the  note  to  BARTHOLOMEW.) 


COLUMBUS.  291 

This  time,  it  seems  the  high  and  low  will  meet, 
And  we,  between  them,  will  be  crushed. 
BARTHOLOMEW  (threateningly).  Perhaps. 

COLUMBUS.     It  speaks  about  another  fleet  in 

port. 
I  thovght  the  treachery  that  had  given  my 

charts 

And  right  to  govern  islands  west  of  here 
To  Pinzon  and  Ojeda  was  enough. 
This  tells  of  one  who  claims  a  jurisdiction 
In  our  own  island. 
BARTHOLOMEW.  Bobadilla,  yes. 

What  will  you  do? 
COLUMBUS.  Divide  and  conquer. 

(To  GUTIERREZ.)     Here! 
GUTIERREZ.     Ay,  ay. 

COLUMBUS.     To  chains  with  all  those  named  in 
this. 

(handing  GUTIERREZ  the  note.) 
The  most  should  be  at  home  now.     Be  alert. 
Exit — Left — GUTIERREZ. 

(to  BARTHOLOMEW.) 

Bartholomew,  the  rest  of  those  condemned 
For  sharing  in  that  last  conspiracy, 
Whom  our  too  willing  clemency  had  spared, 
Should  be  brought  out  to-day  and  shot. 

BARTHOLOMEW.  But  then 

COLUMBUS.     I  see  no  other  way.     When  mercy 
fails 


292  COLUMBUS. 

The  cause  is  lost  that  does  not  call  on  justice.] 
(Noises  outside.) 

What  noise  is  that — a  riot  ? 
BARTHOLOMEW  (who  with  COLUMBUS  looks  toward 

the  Right).  No; — are  cheers. 
COLUMBUS.  You  make  them  out  ? 
BARTHOLOMEW.  Why,  all  the  town  is  there ! 

And  look — our  prisoners  too ! 
COLUMBUS.  What — those  condemned 

To  death? 

BARTHOLOMEW.     Ay,  ay;  and  have  the  leader 
ship; 

And  with  them — can  it  be  ? — it  is !  there  come 

The  San  Domingo  traitors. 
COLUMBUS.  Is  that  so? 

(looking  toward  the  Left.) 

Here,  here ! 

Enter — Left — GUTIERREZ  with  the  SOLDIERS. 

Ay,  steady  now.     Stand  there.     On  guard. 
BARTHOLOMEW  (still  looking  toward  the  Right) . 

They    halt,    consulting.— What  ?     Can    that 
be  he? — 

Velasquez,  our  sub-treasurer!     Not  so? 

Juan  de  Travierra,  too! 
COLUMBUS.  How  strange ! 

Why,  they  were  friends — and  yet 

BARTHOLOMEW.  Have  left  the  rest — 

Are  coming  here. 
COLUMBUS.  Alone? 


COLUMBUS.  293 

BARTHOLOMEW.  I  think  so. 

COLUMBUS.  Yes. — 

[But  how  to  solve  now  what  it  means ! — Can 

you? 
BARTHOLOMEW.     Who  could? — The  others  have 

begun  to  follow. 
COLUMBUS.     Aha!     They  think  that  these  will 

seem  our  friends ; 
And  make  an  opening  through  which  all  can 

enter. 
What  keener  point  could  treachery  find  to 

edge 

Its  wedge  of  enmity,  than  long-tried  friend 
ship?     (to  the  GUARD.) 
Make  ready. — Wait.] 

Enter — Right — VELASQUEZ  and  another 
officer.  They  bow  and  COLUMBUS 
addresses  them. 

Well,  have  you  business  here? 
VELASQUEZ.     We  have  been  sent— 
COLUMBUS.                     True  men  are  never  sent 
By  their  inferior.     They  will  face  him  down; 
And  not  turn  tail  like  driven  beasts  of  burden. 
VELASQUEZ.     You  do  not  know  our  message. 
COLUMBUS.                                      One  may  judge 
A  message  from  its  messengers.     I  see 
A  crowd  of  common  criminals.     Were  they 
Set  free  by  you,  yourselves  are  criminals. 
VELASQUEZ.     Your  pardon;  but 


294  COLUMBUS. 

[COLUMBUS.     You  should  have  asked  for  that 
Before  you  freed  your  pals  there.     No  one 

here 
Has  any  right  to  pardon  men  but  me. 

VELASQUEZ.     But  you  mistake ] 

COLUMBUS.  I  am  the  Viceroy. 

Traitors  to  him  are  traitors  to  the  king. 
VELASQUEZ.     You  may  not  be  this  now. 
COLUMBUS.  What  mean  you? 

VELASQUEZ   (handing  him  an  official  paper  of 

which  he  holds  many).     Here, 
Is  from  the  court. 
COLUMBUS  (taking  and  reading  it). 

An  outrage!     Yet  but  gives 
This  Bobadilla — who?  and  what  is  he? — 
Authority  to  make  investigations. 
Insulting! — There  is  here  no  grant 
For    freeing    captives   that    have    been    con- 

demned. 
VELASQUEZ  (handing  COLUMBUS  another  roll). 

They  sent  another  paper. 
COLUMBUS  (receiving  and  reading  it). 

That  I  yield 

All  arms  and  ships  and  royal  property — 
Yes,  yes,  if  the  investigation  warrants — 
It  will  not  though. 

VELASQUEZ.  Ah,  but  he  says  it  does. 

COLUMBUS.     It  does?     Why,  I  have  never  seen 
this  man. 


COLUMBUS.  295 

VELASQUEZ.         He  has  investigated. 

COLUMBUS.  What? 

VELASQUEZ.  Your  papers. 

COLUMBUS.     My  papers? — Which  and  where? 

VELASQUEZ.  Those  in  your  house. 

COLUMBUS.     He  entered  that  ? 

VELASQUEZ.  He  lives  there. 

COLUMBUS.  In  my  house? — 

And  reads  my  private  papers  ? 

VELASQUEZ.  They  were  found, 

While  carrying  out  his  other  orders. 

COLUMBUS.  More? 

VELASQUEZ  (handing  other  papers  to  COLUMBUS). 
Yes,  these. 

COLUMBUS  (receiving  and  reading  them] . 

That  I  should  pay  all  wages  due 
With  all  arrears  for  royal  services — 
What  then? 

VELASQUEZ.     He  takes  them  from  your  prop 
erty. 

COLUMBUS.     Without  a  word  to  me? — Why  this 

means  ruin! 

And  who  decides  the  claims  ? — a  man  without 
The  means  or  inclination,  as  it  seems, 
To  know  the  truth? — whose  first  official  act 
Is  making  friends  by  setting  traitors  free? 
And  violating  both  the  laws  of  Spain 
And  common  courtesy? — It  is  too  much. 
Away,  and  tell  him  I  defy  him.     Say, 


296  COLUMBUS. 

With  all  the  rabble  that  are  back  of  him, 
Enough  are  here  yet  that  are  loyal  still 
To  Spain  and  me,  to  crush  one  traitor  more. 
VELASQUEZ.     I  fear  the  loyal  must  be  all  against 
you. 

(handing  COLUMBUS  another  paper.} 
Read  this : — a  royal  patent  that  invests 
This  Bobadilla  with  all  power  and  right 
Of  governing  these  islands. 
COLUMBUS  (looking  at  the  paper).     Royal  seals? 
It  cannot  be — but  yet — 

(handing  the  paper  to  BARTHOLOMEW.) 

Can  it  be  true? 

I  knew  that  we  had  enemies;  but  not 
That  they  could  be  so  powerful. 
BARTHOLOMEW.  Shall  we  fight? 

COLUMBUS.     It  might  be  useless;  and  it  must  be 

wise 

To  keep  the  right,  when  with  us,  with  us  yet. 
No;  let  us  yield.  My  brother,  there  are  times 
When  wrongs  are  great  that  they  may  be 

perceived, 

And  emphasize  the  need  of  their  redress. 
[(turning  to  GUTIERREZ  and  the  GUARD.) 
My  men,  this  royal  patent  takes  from  me 
The  government;  bestows  what  powers  were 

mine 

On  Bobadilla.     All  the  loyalty 
Once  shown  to  me,  for  which  my  gratitude 


COLUMBUS.  297 

Will  always  thank  you,  now  belongs  to  him. 
GUTIERREZ.     No,  never. 
GUARD.  No.] 

Enter — Right — SANCHEZ,     SOLDIERS,    ESCOBAR, 
GAMEZ  and  a  rabble. 
Enter — L  eft — PINTO  R  . 

[COLUMBUS.  It  seems  the  sovereign's  will. 

Help  me  by  sharing  with  me  what  I  bear. 

(to  VELASQUEZ.) 

Inform  the  governor  we  await  his  wishes.] 
VELASQUEZ.     There  is  another  order. 
COLUMBUS.  Eh? 

VELASQUEZ.  Is  with 

This  officer,     (gesturing  toward  SANCHEZ.) 
SANCHEZ  (advancing  slowly  toward  COLUMBUS). 

My  orders — not  desire. 
COLUMBUS.     Am  I  to  die  for  serving  Spain  so 

well? 
SANCHEZ  (to  both  COLUMBUS  and  BARTHOLOMEW). 

Not  that — Your  swords. 

COLUMBUS   (as  he  and  BARTHOLOMEW  give  up 
their  swords,  as  does  also  GUTIERREZ). 

But  worse  than  that! — What  next? 
SANCHEZ   (motioning  to  a  SOLDIER  who  brings 

forward  some  handcuffs.} 
I  act  but  for  the  court. 
COLUMBUS.  Are  those  for  me? 

What  crime  have  I  committed? 
SANCHEZ.  I  know  none. 


298  COLUMBUS. 

COLUMBUS.     I    said    I    would    submit.     You 

doubt  my  word? 

Or  courage? — or  persistency? — or  what? 
SANCHEZ.     You  must  return  to  Spain. 
COLUMBUS.  In  chains? — Who  dares 

To  place  them  on  me? 

(looking  at  SANCHEZ  and  his  GUARD.) 
SANCHEZ  (hesitating  and  looking  around}. 

There  are  large  rewards 
For  him  that  does  it.     They  are  offered.— 

Speak,     (to  COLUMBUS.) 
We  all  are  friends,  you  see. 

PINTOR.   (taking  the  handcuffs.)    Not  all;  not  all! 
Here,  let  me  have  them,  boys — am  used  to 

them. 
A  fair  man  gives  what  he  receives,  not  so? 

(puts  them  on  COLUMBUS.) 
Here,  curse  you!     Now  fall  overboard,  and 

these 

Will  sink  you,  as  we  meant  to,  years  ago. 
(turning  to  BARTHOLOMEW  and  fastening  another 

pair  on  him.) 
Now  you  too. 

RABBLE.  Ho,  ho,  ho! 

COLUMBUS  (to  BARTHOLOMEW).     Bartholomew, 
A  single  bracelet  is  enough,  men  think, 
To  show  a  common  gratitude.     But  we, 
Why,  we  have  two !     They  think  their  debt 
To  us  a  doubled  one !     How  it  will  thrill 


COLUMBUS.  299 

Ambition  in  the  future  sons  of  Spain 
To  learn  what  badges  of  true  servitude 
Await  the  souls  that  serve  her  best.     We,  we 
Who  made  of  Spain  the  Empress  of  the  West, 
Have  weightier  honors  waiting  us, — to  be 
The  slaves  that,  crushed  to  earth,  will  pedestal 
The  towering  contrast  of  her  sovereignty. 
Exeunt — Left — SANCHEZ,  his  SOLDIERS,  COLUM 
BUS  and  BARTHOLOMEW. 
Exeunt — Left  and  Right — OMNES. 


SCENE  SECOND: — A  room  belonging  to  a  house  in 
Seville.  Near  the  Left  entrance  a  chair  or  two 
and  a  sofa  with  one  end  raised  on  which  to  rest 
the  head. 

Entrances — at  the  Right — and  Left. 
(Enter — Right — DIEGO  and  BEATRIX.) 

DIEGO.     You  must  not  talk  about  his  poverty. 

BEATRIX.     Why  not  ? 

DIEGO.  Will  kill  him. 

BEATRIX.  I  am  nursing  him. 

DIEGO.     Yes,  all  that  grows  toward  death. 

BEATRIX.  If  he  had  been 

Content, — had  left  the  land  to  others,  when 
Once  found 

DIEGO.     What?     Can  a  mother  leave  her  child, 
When  born — no  more?     Far  less  the  land  he 
sought, 


300  COLUMBUS. 

Than  those  grand  hopes  that  he  had  based  on 

it 
As  a  foundation. 

BEATRIX.  These  he  might  have  watched 

As  well  at  home  here. 

DIEGO.  Why,  I  thought  it  you 

Who  urged  him  on  to  wealth.     The  wealth 

was  there. 

And  how  about  those  titles?     All  of  them 
Were  labels  not  of  use  unless  he  sailed. 

BEATRIX.     Why  did  he  use  them  arbitrarily? 

DIEGO.     Less  use  than   their   possession   gave 

offense. 

Besides,  we  men  are  trained  in  government 
As  well  as  manners.     And  the  curse  of  force 
Is  that  its  own  mean  methods  keep  alive 
Its  first  excuse  for  being.     Tyranny 
May  make  of  chaos  order;  but,  when  throned, 
Knows  not  a  subject  that  is  not  a  slave. 
Would  one  of  those  o'er  whom  my  brother 

ruled, 

Have  bent  the  knee  to  an  authority 
Not  ermined  in  the  old  familiar  guise 
Of  arbitrariness  ? 

BEATRIX.  Had  he  conceived 

How  all  would  end! 

DIEGO.  It  could  not  be  conceived* 

BEATRIX.     But  you  conceived  it. 

DIEGO.  I? 


COLUMBUS.  301 

BEATRIX.  Why  yes.     You  spake 

Of  envy  sure  to  follow. 

DIEGO.  Did  I  so? 

[BEATRIX.     And  it  came  true — as  often  so  with 

you — 
Not  that  I  like  you  better  for  it,  though. 

DIEGO.     My  words  come  true,  eh? — One  might 

think  they  would; 

So  few  regard  them !     It  is  one  sure  test 
Of  prophets  that  they  prophesy  in  vain. 

BEATRIX.     You  might   have  urged   your   bro 
ther 

DIEGO.  Oh,   not   I! 

I  never  urge  myself. 

BEATRIX.  But  when  you  know — 

DIEGO.     Imagine  only — not  the  same  as  know 
ing! 

Imagination  dreams:  its  dreams  anon 
May  leap  Time's  processes,  or  keen-eyed,  spy 
The    end    from    the    beginning.     Yet    such 

dreams 

Come  but  to  him  so  stirred  in  sympathy 
With  nature's  courses,  or  inspired  in  aim 
For  nature's  goals,  or  swept  on  by  its  force, 
That  sheer  inertia  of  the  soul  outspeeds 
The  pace  of  grosser  matter. 

BEATRIX.  And  to  you 

At  times 

DIEGO.     The  times  come  seldom.     Ay,  not  oft 


302  COLUMBUS. 

Do  fancy's  flowers  foretoken  fruit;  not  oft 
Is  ripe  fruit  laden  on  the  limbs  that  bloom 
Most  brilliant  with  the  flowers. — Yet  have  I 

seen  it, — 

Imagination  imaging  true  life, 
Life  true  to  all  its  images;  and  then 
I  found  a  seer,  earth's  rarest  product. 
BEATRIX.  That 

Is  what  some  say  that  you  are. 
DIEGO.  To  be  true 

To  life,  when  all  the  men  that  have  life  doubt 

me 

I  ought  to  join  with  them,  and  doubt  myself. 

BEATRIX.     In  that  you  are  not  like  your  brother. 

DIEGO.  No; 

With  him  quick  action  follows  on  the  thought. 

With   me   come   only   talk,    and   then   more 

thought. 

He  mounts  to  find  success.  I  prophesy — 
Perhaps;  but  where  success  is,  at  my  best, 
Am  only  of  the  crowds  that  cheer  it. 

(looking  to  the  Left.}     Here 
He  comes,  poor  man — his  faithful  sons  too. 

How 

I  love  them  for  their  faithfulness !     Alas, 
How  fast  he  fails!     If  there  were  once  a  time 
We  feared  he  might  be  wrecked,  a  time  has 

come 
When  his  firm  spirit  reels,  the  prey  of  waves 


COLUMBUS.  3<>3 

Far  worse  than  waves  that  sweep  the  sea 

alone. 

Such  havoc  has  fierce  envy  wrought  in  him, 
What  wonder  if  soon  nature,  in  revolt, 
Should  doff  the  guise  this  world  has  torn  to 

rags 
And  give  him  something  richer?] 

Enter — Left — COLUMBUS,  attended  by  his 
two  sons,  YOUNG  DIEGO,  a  man,  and 
FERNANDO,  a  youth.  COLUMBUS 
with  help  is  seated  on  the  sofa.  DIEGO 
continues  to  COLUMBUS. 

Well,  what  news? 
COLUMBUS.     A  new  world  has  been  found  of 

boundless  wealth ; 

And  he  who  found  it,  finds  himself  a  beggar. 
A  king  and  queen  were  throned  o'er  that  new 

world. 
Who  throned  them  there,   they  seized  and 

bound  in  chains. 
DIEGO.     Oh,  yes ;  but  then  the  chains  were  taken 

off. 
COLUMBUS.     A  nation  has  been  made  the  first 

on  earth. 

Who  made  it  this,  for  this  deed  has  been  made 
The  last  in  all  that  nation — not  one  shred 
Of  all  his  property,  or  power,  or  rank, 
Stripped  by  injustice  from  him,   when  well 
proved 


304  COLUMBUS. 

To  be  injustice,  has  been  given  back. 

His  name  he  leaves  dishonored,  and  his  heirs 

Inherit  nakedness. 
BEATRIX.  Yes,  that  is  it. 

You  see  if  he 

DIEGO  (gesturing  violently  to  silence  BEATRIX). 

Not  now.     The  time  will  come 

BEATRIX  (aside  to  DIEGO). 

Oh,  when  you  prophesy  I  always  fear 

That  you  will  prophesy  some  ill  of  me. 

Exit — Right — BEATRIX. 
DIEGO  (to  COLUMBUS). 

Nay;  nothing  now  can  dim  your  well-earned 

fame. 

COLUMBUS.     A  man  who  gave  his  life  for  what  to 
all 

Appeared  impossible,  attained  it,  then 

Found  charts  and  notes  that  told  the  story, 
stolen, 

And  that  which  was  his  own  discovery, 

Called  not  by  his  own  name  but  by  another's. 
DIEGO.     Yes,  it  is  very  strange. 
COLUMBUS .  So  very  strange 

It  seems  that  when  I  think  it  can  be  true, 

I  pause  to  listen  for  the  morning  bells 

To  wake  me  from  a  dream. 
DIEGO.  It  is  a  dream. 

The  force  that  keeps  eternal  worth  from  light 

Is  but  of  time — a  thing  short-lived 


COLUMBUS.  305 

COLUMBUS.  I  know — 

Were  it  not  for  my  children. 

YOUNG   DIEGO.  They  are  proud 

Of  one  who,  all  his  life-time,  has  kept  faith 
With  his  own  soul,  however  left  alone. 

COLUMBUS.     Alone,  and  yet  not  lonely.     Be  one 

true 

To  his  own  mission,  he  is  in  the  ranks 
With  all  that  move  toward  all  good  ends  that 

wait,     (looking  at  his  sons.) 
And  but  for  you — think  not  I  lived  my  life 
To  beg  men  for  a  badge  to  brag  about ! 
Enough,  if  I  have  been  an  influence. 

DIEGO.     Ay,  that  is  all  that  God  is. 

COLUMBUS.  God? 

DIEGO.  Yes,  God. 

What  voice,  or  face,  or  form,  or  robe,  or  crown, 
Or  throne  attests  His  Presence?     Who  can 

trust 
And  serve  mere  outward,  sensuous  things  like 

these, 

And  not  be,  all  through  life — ay,  out  of  it 
And  even  after  death — a  slave  to  sense, 
No  brother  of  the  Christ,  no  son  of  God? 

(COLUMBUS  suddenly  falls  back  upon  the  sofa.) 

FERNANDO.     See — he  is  fainting! 

YOUNG  DIEGO.  Help  him! 

DIEGO.  What  is  this? 

Why,  Christopher! 


30  6  COLUMBUS. 

(To  the  sons  as  they  bend  over  COLUMBUS.) 

Go,  call  a  doctor — priest! 
Exeunt — Left — the    two    sons. 
COLUMBUS    (reviving    and   pointing    toward   the 

center  of  stage) . 
The  new  world — you  must  watch  it — it  will 

grow. 
Hark — there  are  words  I  hear — and  look — 

FELIPA! 
0  Lord,  to  thy  hands  I  commit  my  spirit. 

(COLUMBUS  sinks  in  death  supported  by 
DIEGO,  who  does  not  seem  to  notice 
what  follows,  being  wholly  absorbed 
in  attending  to  COLUMBUS.) 


SCENE  THIRD: — The  curtain  forming  the  back  of 
Scene  Second  rises  disclosing  at  the  Left  the 
same  convent  chapel  and  wall  that  occupy  that 
place  in  Act  First,  Scene  First.  The  convent 
wall,  however,  extends  across  the  stage  to  the 
Right,  and  the  whole  Scene  is  backed  by  a  dis 
tant  view  of  a  fertile,  cultivated,  and  populous 
country,  including  mountains  and  valleys, 
rivers  spanned  by  bridges,  and  low  lands  filled 
with  towns  and  cities, — all  representing  the 
present  condition  of  the  western  continent. 
Near  the  entrance  of  the  chapel,  stands  FELIPA, 
gazing  toward  this  land,  while,  by  a  choir  unseen 


COLUMBUS.  307 

'within  the  chapel,  the  same  hymn  is  chanted  as 
that  with  which  the  drama  opens,  as  follows: 

O  Life  divine,  from  thee  there  springs 

All  good  that  germs  and  grows; 
Thy  Light  behind  the  sunlight  brings 

The  harvests  to  their  close. 

O,  Life  divine,  thou  art  the  source, 

Of  truth  within  the  soul; 
Thou  art  the  guide  through  all  the  course 

That  leads  it  to  its  goal. 

O,  Life  divine,  what  soul  succeeds 

In  aught  on  earth  but  he 
Who  moves  as  all  desires  and  deeds 

Are  lured  and  led  by  thee. 

CURTAIN. 


CECIL  THE  SEER, 


309 


CECIL  THE  SEER. 


INTRODUCTION. 

To  determine  aright  the  relations  that  should  exist  between 
form  and  spirit  is  to  solve  the  most  important,  perhaps,  of 
human  problems.  Ideally,  of  course,  the  one  should  be  a 
perfect  expression  of  the  other  ;  but,  in  this  world,  nothing  is 
ideal  or  perfect ;  and  in  nothing  is  the  fact  more  clearly  ex 
emplified  than  in  the  frequent  failure  of  a  form  to  represent 
that  which,  apparently,  it  exists  for  the  sole  purpose  of  repre 
senting.  To  recognize,  and,  so  far  as  possible,  to  remedy 
this  condition,  are  primal  obligations  of  intelligence  ;  and 
this  fact  justifies  the  extensive  treatment  of  the  subject  which 
has  characterized  the  literature  of  all  periods.  Such  treat 
ment,  however,  cannot  go  to  the  bottom  of  its  possibilities 
without  considering  relations  that  are  distinctively  religious  ; 
for  it  is  religion  that  most  imperatively  demands  that  the  form 
be  a  truthful  expression  of  the  spirit.  But  forms  which,  as  in 
the  Second  Act  of  the  following  drama,  are  to  be  turned  inside 
out  in  order  to  reveal  their  inadequacies,  must,  of  themselves, 
be  forms  in  connection  with  which  such  inadequacies  are  unex 
pected.  Otherwise  the  whole  portrayal  will  be  too  common 
place  to  warrant  attention.  It  will  be  perceived,  therefore, 
that  the  selection  of  religious  characters  for  the  drama  was 
justified  by  the  requirements  of  the  theme ;  and  also  that  the 
use  which  is  made  of  these  characters  is  not  intended  to  dis 
credit  religion  as  a  whole.  Indeed,  only  those  can  recognize 
the  full  significance  of  the  presentation  who  also  recognize 
that  the  incongruities  indicated  are  not  of  ordinary  occurrence. 

Again,  the  suggestions  derivable  from  a  subject  like  that 
3" 


312  CECIL    THE    SEER. 

treated  in  Cecil  the  Seer,  in  order  to  appear  generally  applic 
able,  need  to  be  drawn  from  a  general  survey  of  all  the  possi 
bilities  of  form  ;  and  it  is  for  this  reason,  and  not  because  of 
a  desire  to  disparage  any  particular  form,  that  such  religious 
characters  were  selected  as  are  typical  of  the  remotest  ex 
tremes  of  the  narrow  and  the  broad  in  theory  and  of  formalism 
and  non-conformity  in  practice.  The  inconsistencies  suggested 
do  not  arise  because  any  one  form  of  religion  invariably  tends 
to  self-deception,  but  because,  in  certain  circumstances,  all  or 
any  forms  may  tend  in  this  direction.  A  sufficient  motive  for 
portraying  the  fact  is  that  only  in  the  degree  in  which  a  man 
has  a  practical  recognition  of  it  can  he  exercise  that  discern 
ment,  or  be  controlled  by  that  principle,  which  should  char 
acterize  the  spiritual  life. 

With  reference  to  the  Second  Act  of  the  drama,  it  may  not 
be  out  of  place  to  say  that  the  underlying  conception  of  it  is 
in  strict  accordance  with  human  experience.  Not  a  few,  but 
many,  who,  through  accident  or  disease,  have,  for  a  compara 
tively  long  period,  lost  consciousness,  and  have  again  been 
restored  to  it,  have  borne  witness  that,  while  in  the  subcon 
scious  state,  their  minds  seem  to  have  been  employed  in 
developing  exclusively  the  last  thought  impressed  upon  them 
before  passing  into  the  state.  In  unfolding  the  details  neces 
sitated  by  this  general  conception,  it  is  enough  to  say  that  it 
would  not  have  been  in  accordance  with  the  practice  of  the 
author  had  he  not  carefully  and  consistently  sought  to  conform 
them  to  that  which  is  most  universal  in  the  testimony  given 
by  those  supposed  to  be  in  such  states,  or  in  corresponding 
ones  produced  in  accordance  with  what  are  termed  psychic 
methods.  How  much  absolute  truth  one  is  justified  in  assign 
ing  to  testimony  thus  obtained — from  that  of  Swedenborg 
downward — no  one,  perhaps,  can  decide  with  authority  ;  but 
there  must  be  some  reason  why  the  general  tendencies  of  the 
statements  made — as  applied  to  things  reported  as  heard  or 
seen,  not  to  the  testifier's  explanations  of  them — virtually 


CECIL    THE   SEER.  313 

coincide.  The  suggestion  that  there  may  be  such  a  reason  is 
enough  to  make  a  man  pause  and  think,  and  to  do  this 
whether  he  surmise  that  the  testimony,  because  coming  through 
the  subconscious,  reveals  the  results  of  extraneous  revelation, 
or  only  because,  coming  from  the  subconscious,  it  reveals  the 
results  of  universal  intuition.  It  is  true,  too,  that  at  the  end 
of  many  years  of  pausing  and  thinking,  he  may  not  have  been 
able  to  make  out  beyond  dispute  the  source  of  that  which  he 
is  considering  ;  but  one  thing  he  can  always  do,  and  from  the 
very  first :  He  can  compare  the  import  of  that  which  is 
received  with  the  results,  in  his  own  mind,  of  a  combination 
of  previous  information,  spiritual  insight,  and  rational  infer 
ence.  Whatever,  in  its  general  outlines,  coincides  with  these 
results  will  have  for  him,  and  must  have — his  mind  cannot 
prevent  it — the  authority  of  truth.  But  exactly  the  same  may 
be  affirmed  of  statements  which  have  the  authority  of  truth 
when  communicated  through  the  forms  of  poetry.  Could 
there  be  given  any  better  reason — or  excuse  if  needed — for 
letting  the  thought  of  this  drama  be  borne  on  as  a  result  of 
yoking  together  the  poetic  and  the  psychic  ? 


PLACE  AND  TIME. 

ACT  FIRST  :  In  a  Southern  "  Border  State  "  of  the  American 
Union,  a  little  before  the  War  for  Secession. 
An  evening  party  at  the  home  of  the  Cecils. 
Scene :  A  large  hall  with  glimpses  beyond  it 
of  a  parlor  and  a  porch. 

ACT  SECOND  :  Scenes  First  and  Third :  Interior  of  a  sick 
chamber.  Scene  Second :  A  grove  representing 
the  surroundings  of  a  dream  or  trance. 

ACT  THIRD:  In  a  Northern  "  Border  State  "  just  at  the  open 
ing  of  the  War  for  S ecession.  Scene  First :  The 
interior  of  the  home  of  Freeman  and  Celia ; 
Scene  Second:  A  village  green  in  front  of  Free 
man's  house,  at  one  side  of  which  the  porch  of 
his  house  is  visible. 


315 


fs  this  a  revelation  ? 

Ay,  to  those 

Who  heed  the  truth  behind  the  words  I  use  ; 
And  yet  for  those  who  heed  this  truth  themselves 
I  do  not  need  to  term  it  revelation. 

CECIL  THE  SEER,  II,  2. 

All  life  on  earth 

Is  girt  with  warfare,  where  the  light  of  heaven 
That  brings  each  new  day's  liberty  and  truth 
Contends  with  darkness,  and  there  is  no  peace. 
Our  very  bodies  are  but  phantoms  formed 
Of  that  same  darkness  that  we  must  oppose, 
And  we  must  fight,  if  nothing  else ,  ourselves. 

IDEM,  III,  e. 


CHARACTERS. 

CECIL.  Professor  in  a  College,  a  Candidate  for  the 

highest  Judicial  Office  of  the  State,  to 
be  appointed  by  its  Governor  and  con 
firmed  by  its  Senate.  Also  a  particular 
friend  and  the  instructor  of  Celia. 

KRAFT.  Head  Politician  of  the  ruling  party  of  the 

State,  and  a  particular  friend  of  Madam 
Cecil.  Celia  has  been  the  adopted 
daughter  of  his  deceased  wife. 

FREEMAN.  A  young  Law  Student,  friend  of  Cecil  and 

Celia,  and  in  love  with  Faith  Hycher. 

BLAVER.  Religious  Exhorter,  and  Head  of  the  Pro 

hibition  party  of  the  State.  Particular 
friend  of  Miss  Primwood. 

FATHER  HYCHER.  Head  of  the  Church  party  of  the  State 
who  wish  to  obtain  a  division  of  the 
School  Fund.  Uncle  of  Faith  Hycher, 
and  particular  friend  of  Widow  Hycher, 
his  sister-in-law. 

LOWE.  A  Quaker,  representing  a  syndicate  of  rail 

way  monopolists  who  are  pushing  a  plan 
for  appropriating  and  improving  a  part 
of  the  chief  city  of  the  State. 

JEM.  A  colored  servant. 

317 


318  CHARACTERS. 

CELIA.  Adopted   daughter    of    deceased    wife    of 

Kraft.     Pupil  and  particular  friend   of 

Cecil ;  also  friend  of  Freeman. 

MADAM  CECIL.      Wife  of  Cecil,  particular  friend  of  Kraft. 
FAITH  HYCHER.    In  love    with    Freeman,  niece   of   Father 

Hycher    and   step-daughter  of   Widow 

Hycher. 
Miss  PRIMWOOD.  Principal  of  a  Female  Seminary,  particular 

friend  of  Blaver. 
WIDOW  HYCHER.  Step-mother  of  Faith  Hycher,  particular 

friend    of    her    brother-in-law,    Father 

Hycher. 

MADAM  LOWE.      Quakeress,  wife  of  Lowe. 
MILLY.  A  colored  servant. 

A  PHYSICIAN,   CHORISTERS,  PROMENADERS,  DANCERS, 
POPULACE,    RUFFIANS,    DETECTIVES,     MILITIA,     AND 
GENTLEMEN. 


CECIL  THE  SEER. 


ACT  FIRST. 

SCENE:  An  evening  party  at  the  home  of  the  Cecils. 
A  parlor  with  windows  at  the  back  where  hang 
long  heavy  curtains.  Backing  at  the  Right,  ex 
tending  diagonally  across  the  stage,  a  wide  door 
way,  beyond  which  is  a  glimpse  of  another  large 
room.  Further  forward  on  the  Right,  a  small 
table  about  which  are  chairs  and,  nearby,  an 
alcove  containing  an  apparently  half  hidden 
sofa.  Backing  at  the  Left,  extending  diagonally 
across  the  stage,  a  wide  doorway,  beyond  which 
is  a  glimpse  of  another  room. 

ENTRANCES:     Right    and    Left,    through 
doorways,  at  both  sides  and  in  both 
the  Rear  and  the  Front. 
The  rising  curtain  reveals  FREEMAN  and 
FATHER  HYCHER  sitting  in  the  alcove, 
and  couples  walking  to  and  fro. 
FATHER  HYCHER.     My  standards  are  the  stand 
ards  of  the  world. 
319 


320  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

FREEMAN.     I  know  it. 

FATHER  H.  You  were  questioning 

FREEMAN.  Their   truth. 

[FATHER  H.     (slowly  and  sarcastically). 

Your  name  is  Freeman. 

FREEMAN.  It  defines  me,  yes. 

FATHER  H.     You  think  fidelity  to  man  can  grow 

From  germs  of  infidelity  to  God? 

You  think  that  questioning  the  forms  men 
most 

Esteem,  proves    high  esteem   for  men  them 
selves  ? 

You  think  in  one  that  weds,  or  vows  to  wed, 

To  love  a  third  one  proves  true  love  for  all  ? 

FREEMAN.     That  all  depends  on  what  he  does. 

FATHER  H.  And  that? 

FREEMAN.     On   what   he   is.     Why   ask   these 

things  of  me? — 

And  here  ? 

FATHER  H.     Why  should  I  not?     We  see  so 
much 

In  scenes  like  this! 
FREEMAN.  Oh  no! — You  mean  so  little.] 

The  forms  we  see  are  puppets  of  a  play, 

A  dull  play  too !     Though  seek  what  pulls  the 
string, 

No  longer  is  it  dull.     A  button  breaks, 

A  veil  falls  off 

FATHER  H.  Too  bad  to  hope  for  that ! 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  321 

FREEMAN.     Too  bad,  if  lives  be  bad!     If  not, 

too  good ! 

Some  things  that  on  the  outside  seem  profane, 
Upon  the  inside  may  be  sacred. 
FATHER  H.  Ah? 

FREEMAN.     The  converse  too  is  true. 
FATHER  H.  (haughtily).     You  mean   to   say? — 

(Music  starts.) 

FREEMAN  (rising,  as  does  FATHER  HYCHER). 
That  all  should  watch  the  play,  and  not  forget 
That  they  themselves  are  part  of  it. 
FATHER  H.  Oh,  yes. 

Exit — Right  Front — after  bowing  to  Freeman, 
FATHER  H.  (FREEMAN  sits,  then, 
rising,  moves  toward  the  Left.  Part  of 
the  following  chorus  is  sung  to  the 
accompaniment  of  a  piano  apparently 
in  the  rooms  beyond  the  Left  Rear. 
During  the  singing  certain  of  those 
upon  the  stage,  or  entering  from  its 
various  entrances,  dance  to  the  music.) 

We  live  but  for  bubbles,  and  those  who  know 
The  way  of  the  world  their  bubbles  will  blow. 
Ay,  all  but  whose  doings  are  fated  to  be 
No  more  than  are  drops  in  an  infinite  sea, 
Will  blow  them,  and  show  them,  till,  by  and  by, 
They  fill  and  float  to  the  air  on  high; 
Hoho!  hoho!  and  the  world  will  thus 
Know  how  big  a  bubble  can  come  from  us. 


322  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

We  live  but  for  bubbles  that  grow  and  glow 
The  bigger  and  brighter  the  more  we  blow; 
And,  borne  on  the  breath  of  the  breeze  around 
Wherever  the  tides  of  the  time  are  bound, 
There  is  nothing  of  earth  or  of  heaven  in  sight 
But  they  image  it  all  in  a  rainbow  light; 
Hoho!  hoho!  and  the  world  will  thus 
Know  how  bright  a  bubble  can  come  from  us. 

We  live  but  for  bubbles  a-dance  in  the  blast, 

But  who  can  tell  how  long  they  will  last? 

So  swell  your  cheeks,  and  puff,  and  fan, 

And  make  the  most  of  them  while  you  can, 

For  if  ever  the  breath  in  them  fail,  they  will  pop, 

And  only  the  drizzles  to  dry  as  they  drop; 

Hoho!  hoho!  and  the  world  will  thus 

Be  done  with  the  bubbles  that  come  from  us. 


Enter — Left  Rear — during  the  singing, 
FAITH.  She  meets  FREEMAN  and, 
after  a  time,  they  sit  in  the  alcove  at 
the  Right. 

Exeunt — at  different  Entrances — the  dan 
cers  or  singers. 

FAITH.     This  night  seems  like  a  fete  in  fairy 
land. 

That  singing  proves  it  so.     I  like  to  see 
Our  Cecil  circled  by  the  people  singing. 
FREEMAN.     You  note  its  meaning  then  ? 
FAITH.  What? 

FREEMAN.  Cecil-worship. 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  323 

[FAITH.  And  worship  is  the  interest  men  pay 
For  worth  when  they  can  get  it — justly  due 
To  men  of  principle. 

FREEMAN.  And  how  of  women? — 

This  Madam  Cecil  is  the  priestess  here. 
The  fee  is  hers;  and  he,  the  puppet-idol.] 

FAITH.     How  so  ? 

FREEMAN.     Our  state  is  lacking  a  Chief  Justice. 

FAITH.     And  what  of  that? 

FREEMAN.  His  is  a  high  position. 

[She,  who  is  always  looking  upward,  sees  it. 

FAITH.     That  may  be ;  but  you  spoke  of  worship. 

FREEMAN.  Why,] 

If  any  idol's  niche  be  tenantless, 
The  one  all  worship  is  the  one  all  want  there. 

FAITH.     Oh  yes! — and  Madam  Cecil 

FREEMAN.  Drawing  hither 

The  undirected  flow  of  current  thought, 
Though  little  rills,  may  find  them,  all  together, 
Enough  to  float  the  bark  of  her  ambition. 
You    see    this    house — and    she    herself — are 

gems. 
For  setting,  gems  need  gold.     Her  husband 

earns 

By  teaching  in  the  college,  at  the  most, 
No  gold  to  spare;  and,  even  did  she  hope, 
From  her  own  managing,  no  perquisites 

[FAITH.     What  perquisites? 

FREEMAN.  The  kind  that  make  us  call 


324  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

A  public  man  "His  Honor,"  lest  the  world 
Might  fail  to  recognize  it,  if  not  labeled.] 
FAITH.     Will  Cecil  get  the  place? 
FREEMAN.  The  governor 

May  nominate  him ;  but  the  senators 
Can  scarcely  be  expected  to  confirm, 
Without  some  reason  not  upon  the  surface, 
A  man  so  young  and  inexperienced. 
FAITH.     But  he  is  worthy  of  it. 
FREEMAN  What  is  worth 

With  those  that  she  will  try  to  get  to  push 

him? 
Their  favors  must  be  paid  for.     Most  have 

suits 
They  sue  for  in  the  law-courts.     Think  you 

Cecil, 
An  upright,   downright   and  straightforward 

nature, 
Will  twist  and  smirk  with  twenty  different 

faces 
The  twenty  different  ways  that  these  would 

have  him? 

FAITH.     It  were  a  brilliant  chance ! 
FREEMAN.  Yes,  far  too  brilliant 

For  moths  to  meet  with,  and  escape  a  scorching. 
No  wick-light   dazzles  him.     He  knows  the 

sun. 

FAITH  (looking  toward  the  Left] . 
Look — Madam  Cecil  now — 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  325 

FREEMAN  (rising).     And  angels  too, 

They  say,  draw  near  us  when  we  talk  of  them. 

FAITH  (also  rising).     With  her  comes  Kraft. 

FREEMAN.  The  ruler  of  his  party, — 

Controls  the  governor. 

FAITH.  Ah!     And  Cecil,  then, — 

Are  he  and  Kraft  such  friends? 

FREEMAN.  No ;  she  and  Kraft, 

A  man  whom  she  so  floods  with  flattery 
That  his  half  drowned,  asphyxied  reason  raves 
Past  all  resisting  her.     Beside  this  too, 
He  means,  they  say,  to  seat  that  son  of  his 
In  Cecil's  present  chair.     Your  men  that  rule, 
When  others  hold  the  place  that  they  would 

fill, 

Tramp  an  inferior,  and  push  off  an  equal; 
But   if   some   scheme   they   basely   brew   be 

spoiled 

By  one  above  them, — they  are  left  no  option; 
But,  like  a  cover,  they  must  lift  him  higher. 
So,  by  their  very  righteousness,  you  see 
The  righteous  force  their  foes  to   do  them 

justice. 
Exeunt — Right  Front — FREEMAN  and  FAITH. 

Enter — Left  Rear — KRAFT  with  MADAM  CECIL. 

MADAM  C.     Your  charming  son — 

KRAFT.     Gains  charms  from  you  who  say  that — 

MADAM  C.     And  with  his  noble  brow,  and  eyes, 
and  manners — 


326  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

KRAFT.     Yes;  he  is  like  his — mother. 
MADAM  C.  Why,  my  friend, 

His  mien,  his  manner  are  as  like  to  yours. 
As  ever  were  the  echoes  of  a  wood 
To  singing  of  a  woodsman. 
KRAFT.  Oh,  you  flatter! 

[MADAM  C.     And  pardon,  if  I  add  both  have 

their  music. 
KRAFT.     No,   no;  but  Madam  Cecil,   you  do 

flatter! 
MADAM  C.     Not  half  so  much,  my  good  friend, 

as  your  mirror, 
When  you  but  face — 
KRAFT  (looking  at  her  intently) . 

And  find  it  very  bright  ? — 
But  now,  about  my  son:  I  think — I  think— 
MADAM  C.     What  I  think.     Do  we  ever  dis 
agree  ?] 

KRAFT.     I  wish  your  husband  could  be  led — 
MADAM  C.  You  think 

He  cannot  then? 

KRAFT.  Why  that  depends — 

MADAM  C.  On  whom?— 

A  good  judge  is  a  man  whose  judgments  you 
Approve. 

KRAFT  (bowing  to  her) .    Thanks  for  your  interest. 
Enter — Left — MR.    BLAVER    with    Miss    PRIM- 
WOOD. 
MADAM  C.      (continuing  to  KRAFT).     Why  that 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  327 

Becomes  me, — does  it  not? — Have  you  not 

said 

I  always  do,  as  well  as  wear,  the  thing 
That  seems  becoming? — and  the  principal 
(touching  KRAFT  with  her  fan;  then  pointing  it 

toward  herself.} 

Should  always  draw  its  interest.     Not  so? — 
(turning  to  speak  to  Miss  PRIMWOOD  and  BLAVER, 

who  carries  a  pamphlet  in  his  hand.) 
Miss  Primwood,  ah !  Good-evening — You  too, 

Deacon : 

(All  bow.     KRAFT  talks  aside  to  Miss  PRIMWOOD. 
MADAM    CECIL    continues    to    BLAVER, 
tapping  his  pamphlet  with  her  fan.) 
We  read  your  little  prohibition  tracts. 
BLAVER.     Yes? — Thanks. — Yet,    as    you    say, 

they  are  but  little. 
MADAM  C.     The  littlest  diamond  in  this  ring  I 

wear 

Is  better  for  my  humble,  human  use, 
Than  a  whole  world  of  dust  whirled  in  a  star 
Set  in  an  orbit  out  beyond  my  reach. 
BLAVER.     If,  in  some  humble  way,  my  tracts  do 

good — 
MADAM  C.     The  littlest  bird-track,  sometimes, 

in  the  sand 

May  make  one  think  of  wings  flown  out  of  sight. 
BLAVER.     If  only  mine  would — wings  of  progress, 
wings — 


328  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

MADAM  C.     Ah,  but  your  cause  is  right. 
BLAVER.  Yes,  all  our  pleas 

Are  based  upon  religion.     Yet  you  know 
The  lower  courts  are  hostile. 
Exeunt — Left — Miss  PRIMWOOD  and  KRAFT. 
MADAM  C.  Right  must  win. 

[BLAVER.     You  think  so  ? — The  professor  too  ?— 
MADAM  C.  (assuming  an  air  of  disparagement). 

Come,  come; 
No  man  should  anchor  trust  in  such  as  he, 

Why  your  opponents  never 

BLAVER  (eagerly).  Would  support  him? — 

They  never  would? 

MADAM  C.         How  could  they?     Do  you  know, 
That  only  last  night,  when  some  friends  were 

here 

And  talking  of  the  governorship,  he  said 
Our  next  might  be  a  prohibitionist. 
BLAVER  (greatly  pleased,  rubbing  his  hands). 
Is    that    so?     Really!— Is    that    so?     Why, 

why!—] 
Enter — Right  Rear — FATHER  HYCHER  with 

WIDOW  HYCHER. 

MADAM  C.   (noticing  them).     But  there  comes 
Father  Hycher— 

( insinuatingly  to  BLAVER.) 

Do  you  think 

A  man,  religious  truly,  will  not  win 
When  battling  for  a  cause  that  is  religious? 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  329 

(MADAM  C.  and  BLAVER  bow  to  FATHER 
H.  and  WIDOW  HYCHER.  BLAVER 
talks  aside  to  WIDOW  H.  and,  with 
her,  presently,  exits  at  the  Left — 
MADAM  C.  continues  talking  to 
FATHER  HYCHER.) 

You  act  like  saints  we  read  of  in  the  legends, 
With  holy  air  about  them.     As  you  enter, 
Our  thoughts  turn  toward  religion. 
FATHER  H.  Ah? — with  mine! — 

I  saw  you  at  the  church,  the  other  day. 
MADAM  C.     I  heard  the  Father  was  to  preach — 
FATHER  H.  And   came? — 

MADAM  C.     To  be  a  worshipper. 
FATHER  H.  You  think  perhaps, 

That  we  make  less  of  preaching  than  of  praise. 
MADAM  C.     Now,  honestly,  I  do  admire  your 

form. 

FATHER  H.     I  like  to  see  you  give  it  counte 
nance. 

But,  really,  Madam  Cecil,  you  are  right. 
We  must  have  form; — all  eyes,  ears,  crave  it  so. 
The  only  question,  as  I  say,  is  this — 

Which  form  is  the 

MADAM   C.  The  form  the  most  emphatic, 

One  might  call  the  form. 

FATHER  H.                       Right,  just  right  again ! — 
In  schools,  asylums,  prisons,  everywhere 
That  faith  should  be  impressed 


330  CECIL  THE  SEER, 

MADAM  C.  There  one  should  use 

The  most  impressive  form. 
FATHER  H.  Why,  why,  how  strange! 

Just  what  I  told  your  husband ! 
MADAM  C.   (laughing  significantly}.     You  have 

learned 

A  woman's  thoughts  are  echoes;  and  she  echoes 
The   thoughts    that   have   been   nearest    his 

heart  too 

To  whom  she  stands  the  nearest. 
FATHER  H.  No— but  I— 

How  could  I  think  my  words  had  had  such 

weight  ? 
MADAM  C.     Words  are  a  currency  that  owe  their 

worth 

Less   to    their   substance,    often,    than  their 
source. 

[FATHER  H.     Your  husband,  then,  you  think 

MADAM  C.  (with  an  implied  suggestion}. 

A  man  that  knows 

Enough  to  judge  a  beaker  by  its  brand.] 
FATHER  H.     I  did  not  think  I  had  such  influence. 
MADAM  C.     Nor  does  the  sun.     It  never  thinks 

at  all; 
Yet  keeps  the  whole  world  whirling — by  its 

light?— 

No,  no, — by  its  position. 

Enter — Right  Rear — FREEMAN  and  FAITH,  pres 
ently  seating  themselves  in  the  alcove. 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  331 

FATHER  H.  If  the  courts 

Had  only  sense  to  recognize  the  wrong 
Of  taxing  our  schools  to  support  a  rule 
From  which  our  own  religion  is  ruled  out — 
MADAM  C.     And  on  your  side  are  many  sena 
tors?— 

And  they  confirm  the  judges  ? 
FATHER  H.  What  of  that? 

MADAM   C.     Why,    Father,   sometimes   I   have 

played  at  whist; 
And  when  my  partner  holds  the  cards  that 

win 

FATHER  H.  (to  MADAM  C.). 

What  then? 

MADAM  C.     Then  I  play  low — play  whist. 
FATHER   H.  Ha!  ha! 

Enter — Left  Front — LOWE  carrying  a  map- 
like  plan  of  streets,  parks,  etc.     Other 
GENTLEMEN    enter    with    him.     All 
surround  MADAM  C. 
Exit — Left — FATHER    HYCHER. 
[FREEMAN  (to  FAITH). 

See  Madam  Cecil.     How  her  ribboned  form 
Bends  o'er  the  black  coats! — like  a  bow  of 

promise 
Above  thick  cloud-banks.     Each  one  thinks 

he  sees 

Those  of  his   own  cloth  fly  at  Cecil's  bid 
ding 


332  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

Like  crows  where  grows  but  shall  not  grow  a 

harvest. 

Oh,  to  be  popular,  just  let  one  be 
Abulge  with  promise,  pledging  everything. 
Till  time  present  him  his  protested  bills, 
The  world  will  fawn  and  paw  him  like  a  cur 
To  do  his  bidding.     Promise  is  a  flea : 
It  makes  us  itch;  but  fools  us,  would  we  catch 

it.] 
MADAM  C.  (looking  over  LOWE'S  plans}. 

This  line  here  is  the  river  bank, — not  so  ? 
LOWE.     And  here  the  railway;  and  the  park  is 

here, 

And  here  the  church  (pointing). 
MADAM  C.  The  church  ? 

LOWE.  You  know  with  me 

Religion  is  the  chief  consideration. 
MADAM  C.     I  know;  but  yet  a  Friend — ? 
LOWE.  The  company 

Are  world's  folk, — will  not  build  a  meeting. 

So 
We  would  not  quarrel  with  them:  we  build 

this. 

MADAM  C.     Yes.     How  considerate ! 
[LowE.  I  wish  to  be  so. 

MADAM  C.     But  no  one  lives  here  yet? 
LOWE.  In  time  some  will. 

MADAM  C.     And,  for  their  future  good,  you 
build  the  church? 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  333 

LOWE.     Yet  some  do  not  approve.] 

MADAM  C.  Is  there  much  doubt 

Of  your  success? 
LOWE.  Oh  no — not  if  the  courts 

Remove  the  injunction  of  the  district's  owners. 
MADAM    C.     But    that    will    follow.     As    my 

husband  says, 

The  corner  stones  of  monumental  deeds 
Must  always  crush  some  worms;  and  plans 

like  these  (laughing  good-naturedly) 
Are  monumental — even  in  their  size ! 
We  ought  to  find  a  table  for  them  here. 

(gesturing  toward  the  Left.) 
Exeunt — Left — MADAM    C.,    LOWE    and 

other  GENTLEMEN. 
FREEMAN  (to  FAITH). 

This  is  a  swindle  shrewdest  of  them  all, — 
A  syndicate  that  steals  the  river-bank ; 
Then  taxes  doubly  those  they  steal  it  from 
[For  what  is  left  them.     But  the  abuse  is  old. 
Where  thrived  ambition  yet,  but  strove  to  build 
Itself  a  monument  by  heaping  up 
That  which,  when  lost,  made  hollow  all  about 

it! 

How  many  castles  I  have  seen  in  Europe, 
Where  every  graceful  touch  in  breadth  and 

height 

That  formed  the  great  hall's  pride,  seemed 
underlined 


334  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

As  if  by  shadowy  finger-prints  of  force. 
That  snatched  all  from  the  hamlet  at  its  base !] 
But  look  you — there  is  Cecil,  and  with  Celia. 

(pointing  toward  the  Left  Rear.) 
How  indiscreet  his  kindness  toward  that  ward 
Of  Kraft ! — Kraft  who  could  make  him  judge, 

and  who 

Abhors  her,  treats  her  like  a  slave,  they  say. 
FAITH.     Why  so  ? 
FREEMAN.         He  has  his  reasons. 
FAITH  (rising}.  Do  you  know  them? 

(FREEMAN  rising  and  shrugging  his  shoulders.) 
Some  say  that  you  admired  her  once. 
FREEMAN.  I  did. 

Before  my  eyes  met  you 

FAITH.  This  never  can  be. 

My  uncle's  honor  and  mine  own  are  pledged. 
FREEMAN.     But  honor  helping  none  and  harm 
ing  self, 

Need  never  serve  the  body  of  a  vow 
From  which  the  life  to  which  it  vowed  has 

flown. 
Exeunt — Right  Front — FAITH  and  FREEMAN. 

Enter — Left    Rear — CELIA    and    CECIL. 
CECIL.     Must  leave  off  study,  Celia? 
CELIA.  So  it  seems. 

CECIL.     To    be    their    brightest,    minds    need 

burnishing ; 
And  earth  needs  all  the  light  that  we  can  give  it. 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  335 

CELIA.     I  know — were  I  not  so  opposed — were 

I 

Not,  say,  a  woman.     What  can  woman  do? 
CECIL.     Do,  Celia,  do? 

CELIA.  Why,  yes — what  starts  with  her? 

CECIL.     No  matter  what.     Men  sow  the  seed, 

you  think. 

How  could  it  grow,  were  it  to  find  no  soil? 
You   know   the   crystal   globes   clairvoyants 

look  in, 
And  think  they  see  as  heaven  sees  then? — 

Some  women 

Have  crystal  souls.     One  faces  them  to  find 
His  thoughts  divine,  himself  akin  to  God. 

CELIA.     If  that  be  woman's  nature 

CECIL.  It  is  not, 

Till  polished  in  the  friction  of  the  schools, 
Which  some  think  needless;  but  where  wo 
man's  mind 
Has  never  been  made  bright,  the  thoughts  of 

men 

Will  never  flash  for  it. 
[CELIA.  The  sun  may  find 

Its  image  in  the  dullest  pool. 
CECIL.  To  be 

Too  modest,  is  to  lag  behind,  and  not 
Keep  step  with  God's  advancing  lines. 
CELIA.  My  trouble 

Is  caused  by  lines  prescribed  by  men.     A  soul 


CECIL  THE  SEER. 


That   swerves  from  these  in  either  thought 

or  deed 

They  treat  as  traitor  both  to  them  and  God. 
CECIL.     Of  course!  —  If  they  can  group  them 

selves  with  God 

They  may  appear  more  lordlike  to  the  souls 
That  they  desire  to  lord  it  over.  —  But 
How  is  it  you  have  come  to  learn  of  this  ?  — 
What  lines  of  thought  or  deed  have  you  been 

breaking? 
CELIA.     I   may  have   been   at  fault  —  I   had  a 

dream  — 

CECIL.     And  you  were  blamed  for  dreaming? 
CELIA.  No;  I  told  it. 

CECIL.     Another  Joseph  !  —  indiscreet,  I  see. 
You  should  have  known  we  all  at  heart  are 

Tartars; 

And  value  most  the  beauty  of  the  spirit, 
When,  like  the  Tartar's  daughter,  it  is  veiled.  — 
But  now,  this  dream,  —  why  not  let  me  too 

judge  it? 
CELIA.     My  dream  awoke  a  whim.     I  said  I 

thought 

That,  if  a  soul  must  live  hereafter,  why, 
It  must  have  lived  before.  —  You  know  the 

Christ 
Did  not   rebuke  those  who   confessed   they 

thought 
Elias  had  returned;  but,  in  an  age 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  337 

When  all  believed  he  might  return,  confirmed 

them. 
And  then  our  creed — Where  can  it  come  to 

pass, — 

The  body's  resurrection? 
CECIL.  Where? 

CELIA.  Where  but 

In  that  new  earth  of  Hebrew  prophecies? — 
Which  would  have  but  misled,  had  those  that 

heard 

Not  had  it  in  their  power  themselves  to  be 
Restored  to  life  in  that  restored  estate. 
CECIL.     The  state  of  Adam,  do  you  mean,  and 

Eve?- 

From  which  men  fell  away?] 
CELIA.  I  sometimes  think 

The  sources  of  men's  thoughts — and  deeds, 

as  well — 

Are  far,  far  back  of  all  they  meet  with  now, — 
In   previous   lives  from   which    the    present 

grow; 

And  men  are  born  to  what  they  bring  them 
selves. 

CECIL.     You  seem  to  make  life  hard  to  under 
stand. 
CELIA.     No;  I  explain  it;  for,  if  I  myself 

Had  been  an  Eve,  my  suffering  now  were  just. 
CECIL.     Your  suffering  now? — so  great? — What 
is  it?— How?— 


CECIL  THE  SEER. 

CELIA.     I  must  find  some  one — let  me  tell  it 

you: 

To  him,  whose  wife,  ere  death,  was  more  to  me 
Than  mother,  I  am  naught. 
CECIL.  But  others  prize  you. 

CELIA.     The   rarest    jewel    might    be    cheaply 

bartered 
By  one  who  did  not  prize  it. 

CECIL.  Bartered?— You? 

CELIA.     Note  my  complexion — who  think  you 

my  mother  ? — 
CECIL.     What,  what  ? — Kraft  never  claimed  you 

as  a  slave? 
CELIA.     Nor  will,  perhaps ;  but  he  has  threatened 

it; 

And  even  the  suggestion  of  this  here — 
CECIL.     But  why  suggest  it  ? 
CELIA.  I  alone  have  seen 

The  writings  that  were  left  him  by  his  wife, — 

Her  wish  to  free  her  slaves 

CECIL.  Oh,  what  a  worm 

Is  greed  for  gold!     Did  ever  human  fruitage 
Turn    into  rot  but    this    greed  gnawed    the 

core  ? — 
Was  there  a  will?     (CELIA  nods  slightly.') 

You  are  in  danger,  yes. 

CELIA.     A  wretch  has  come,  as  vile  as  he  is  ugly; 
And  if  I  were  the  charmer  of  a  snake, 
I  could  not  shrink  from  touch  more  horrible. 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  339 

CECIL.     And  what  of  him  ? 

CELIA.  Why,  I  must  go  with  him ; 

Indeed,  have  been  forbidden  to  come  here. 
CECIL.     To-night? 
CELIA.  To-night. 

CECIL.  Must  marry  him? 

CELIA.  Nay,  worse. 

He  needs,  or  says  he  needs,  a  housekeeper. 
CECIL.     Why,    Celia,    this    is   monstrous!     By 
what  means 

Would  Kraft  enforce  his  will  ? 
CELIA.  By  force  itself ; 

And  what  he  deems  my  ignorance. 
CECIL.  Tell  me,  child, 

Has  Kraft  good  reasons? 
CELIA.  If  he  have? 

CECIL.  Why,  then 

[By  your  white  soul,  and  by  the  work  of  Christ, 

Howe'er  they  storm,  although  with  thunder 
bolts 

As  thick  as  bristling  blades  in  bayonet  charges] 

I  stand  between  you  and  the  coming  danger. 
CELIA.     I  thank  you,  friend;  but  no;  your  race 
is  mine. 

But  one  needs  time  to  prove  it. 
CECIL.  Who  meanwhile 

Will  guard  you  ? 

CELIA.  Yes— who  will  ? 

CECIL.  That  son  of  Kraft? 


34°  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

CELIA.  He  ? — Such  a  villain,  that  his  daintiest  act 
Of  kindness  is  a  counterfeited  coin 
With  which  he  chaffers  and  intends  to  cheat! 
If  I  were  drowning,  I  would  spurn  to  grasp 
His  hand,  if  it  would  draw  me  near  himself. 
Better  to  die  at  once,  when  washed  and  clean, 
Than  catch  contagion  and  live  on  defiled. 

CECIL.     You  must  remain  at  my  house. 
Enter — Left  Rear — KRAFT. 

KRAFT.  Celia  here? 

CELIA  (noticing  KRAFT). 

I — I — have  an  engagement.     I  must  go. 
Exit— Left  Front— CELIA. 

KRAFT  (to  CECIL). 

I  interrupt  you.     She  was 

CECIL  (to  KRAFT).  Telling    me 

That  you  desire  to  have  her  drop  her  studies. 

KRAFT.     Well,  she  must  win  her  bread. 

CECIL.  Quite  true;  but  how? 

KRAFT.     Humph ! — my  affair ! 

CECIL.  Why,  no;  not  wholly, — is  it? 

Let  me  relieve  you  of  the  charge  of  her. 
And  take  it  on  myself.     In  two  years'  time, 
When  once  she  gets  to  teaching,  she  can  pay 
me. 

KRAFT    (sarcastically).     Perhaps;    but,    by   the 

way,  now  that  you  speak 

Of  teaching,  there  is  no  one  named,  I  think, 
For  your  professorship,  in  case  you  leave  it. 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  341 

CECIL.     I  have  not  left  it  yet. 

KRAFT.  You  may  do  so. 

If  not,  too,  there  are  more  professorships; 

And  I — I  have  a  son. 
CECIL.  I  see.     No  doubt 

His  claims  would  have  fair  hearing. 
KRAFT.  But  if  you 

Could  recommend  him 

CECIL.  That  would  pass  for  little; 

I  know  so  little  of  him. 

KRAFT.  But  your  word 

CECIL.     Would,  like  a  bank-note,  quickly  lose 
its  worth 

Were  nothing  stored  behind  it,  to  make  true 

The  storage  it  bespeaks. 
[KRAFT.  Humph!  I  have  found 

The  men  most  praised  for  judgment  are  the 
men 

Most  echoing  others'  judgments.     Thus,  for 
sooth, 

They  make  their  own  appear  approved  by  all. 
CECIL.     Not  so  with  me!     Has  he  experience 

In  teaching? 

KRAFT.  He  has  knowledge. 

CECIL.  For  a  teacher, 

A  knowledge  of  mere  books  does  not  suffice; 

He  needs  a  knowledge  too  of  human  nature ; 

And  sympathy,  to  make  his  teaching  welcome; 

And  fire,  to  make  it  felt;  and  tact  and  skill. 


342  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

To  aim  and  temper  it  for  others'  needs; 
And  modesty  to  keep  his  own  acquirements 
In  strict-held  servitude  to  their  demands, 
And  dignity  that  comes  from  honoring  truth, 
To    crown    its    bondman    as    the    student's 

master. 

What  think  you?     Has  he  these? 
KRAFT.  Has  had  no  chance 

To  show 

CECIL.     Then  why  not  test  him  where  a  failure 
Would    not    be    trumpeted?     A    man's    best 

friend 

Will  bid  him  wait  for  honor  till  he  earn  it. 
Amid  earth's  envious  crush  of  frenzied  greed, 
It  is  no  kindness,  pushing  to  the  front 
One  who  is  not  a  leader.     Zealous  forms 
That  crowd  him  there,  may  tramp  him  under 

foot. 
KRAFT.  I  will  remember 

What  you  have  said.] 
Enter — Left    Front — a    GENTLEMAN    beckoning 

to  KRAFT. 
Exeunt — Left   Front — GENTLEMAN  and  KRAFT, 

after  bowing  to  CECIL. 
Enter — Right     Front — FREEMAN. 
CECIL  (to  FREEMAN).     I  hear  Kraft  has  a  son. 
FREEMAN.     And    I    am    more    unfortunate — 

have  met  him. 
[CECIL.     He  wants  to  rise  in  life. 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  343 

FREEMAN.  In  politics, — 

What  low  souls  like  because  enabling  them 
To  worm  themselves  to  slimy  eminence 
Without  abandoning  the  dirt  they  gloat  in.] 
Exeunt — Left  Rear — FREEMAN  and  CECIL. 
Dance  music.     Enter  at  the  different  en 
trances,  dancers  in  couples  or  in  sets. 
At  last,  those  nearest  the  Left  beckon 
to  the  others,  and  all,  as  if  suddenly 
called  away,  exeunt  at  the  Left  En 
trances. 

Enter — Right  Rear — JEM,  carrying  a  tray 
with  plates  and  refreshments  on  it. 
He  looks  at  the  dancers,  then  meeting 
MILLY,  he  places  the  tray  on  the  table 
near  the  alcove. 

Enter — Right    Front — MILLY,  carrying    a 
tray  with  glasses  containing  iced  tea. 
She  too  places  her  tray  on  the  table. 
JEM    looks    at    the    departing    dancers    and    at 

MILLY)  . 

MILLY.     De  white  folks  leave  deir  shadders. 
JEM  (stretching  his  hand  to  take  MILLY'S). 

Heah !  come  heah ! 
MILLY  (drawing  back  her  hand}. 

No,  no,  yer  don't. 
JEM  (looking  sharply  at  her  hand,  which  she  keeps 

clenched) .        Now  tell  me  what  yer  got 
In  dat  black  hollah  dah. 


344  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

MILLY  (jerking  her  hand  away}. 

Jes'  what  yer  hasn't. 
JEM.     Come,  come,  now,  Milly.     Lawd  ob  all 

de  stahs ! 

Dis  heah's  a  patch  ob  his  own  pitchy  sky, 
An'  hoi's  a  stah  in  dah.     Whose  am  it,  hey? 
MILLY.     Whose?     Mine. 

JEM.     Yer'll  catch  it— libin'  deed  o'  darkness! 
MILLY  (throwing  breast-pin  from  one  hand  into 

the  other) . 

Dey'll  hab  to  catch  dis  fust. 
JEM.  Come,  yer  knows,  Milly, 

Dat  I'll  not  gib  yer  way.     Say,  whar'd  yer  get 

it? 

MILLY.     Why,  on  de  floah. 
JEM.  Who  drapt  it  off  'um  den? 

MILLY.     De  folks  dat  owes  us  twenty  times  as 

much 
As  dat  '11  fetch  us. 

(shaking  the  breast-pin  at  JEM.) 
QEM.  Ah,  dat's  right. 

MILLY  (putting  the  breast-pin  in  her  pocket). 

Yes,  Laud! 
An'  doin'  right. 
JEM.  All  'cep'  dat  yer  aint  dancin'. 

QEM   makes   motions   as   if  dancing.) 
Heah,  now,  heah  an'  heah! 
MILLY.  Now,  Jem,  yer  wait. 

JEM.     What  fur? 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  345 

MILLY.  'Case  dey'll  fine  out. 

JEM.  Ugh,  dey  can't  see  us. 

MILLY.     Ole  missus  's  allers  houndin'  roun',  yer 

knows, 

To  fine  de  niggah.] 

(moving  and  gesturing  toward  the  alcove.) 
Dah.     Set  down. 
( MILLY  sits  in  the  alcove.) 
JEM  (looking  at  the  refreshments).     An'  take 
De  crum  dat's  fallen  fro'  de  rich  man's  table? — 
Dat'm  scripter.     (JEM  sits.) 

Look  heah,  Milly. 

MILLY.  What's  ter  see? 

JEM.     Dis  dahky's  lips  would  like  anoder  cake. 

(puckering  lips,  as  if  to  kiss  her.) 
MILLY.     Oh,  yer  go  home. 

JEM.  No;  it  am  cold  out  dah. 

MILLY.     Den  let  it  shake  yer!  yer  got  one  wife 

now. 
JEM.     Not  one!  De  las'  'un,  Dinah,  'm  sold,  yer 

know — 
Gone  like  de  dark  cloud  when  de  night  am 

come. 

I'll  nebah  see  her  moah. 
MILLY.  Jem,  dat  am  sad. 

JEM.     An'  yer  don't  reckon  dis  Jem's  meant  ter 

be 

A  gem  widout  a  settin'  ? 
MILLY.  Dah's  de  white  folks. 


346  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

Enter  —  Left  Rear  —  BLAVER  and  Miss 
PRIMWOOD — MILLY  and  JEM  rise, 
taking  their  trays. 

[JEM.     Well,  dey  don't  reckon  so  nuther. 
MILLY.  What  dey  reckons, 

Dey  show  by  sellin'  Dinah. 

JEM.  What   yer   reckon 

MILLY.     Is  all  de  number  ob  yer  wives! 

(bowing  to  JEM.) 

JEM.  Yer  can't.] 

Exeunt — Right  Front — MILLY  and  JEM  hurriedly- 
Miss  PRIMWOOD  (catching  a  glimpse  of  them,  and 

holding  up  her  hands). 
None  have  religion,  none — I  tell  you  none. 
Men  are  not  solemnized  as  once  they  were. 
BLAVER.     No,   they  are  sodomized.     You  say 

you  saw 
In  Cecil's  hand,  a  reddish-colored  dram? 

Miss  PRIMWOOD.     It  might  have  been 

BLAVER.  To  those  who  saw  it  drunk 

It  looked,  at  least,  like  liquor.     He  was  not 
Avoiding  the  appearances  of  evil, 
[Is  not  the  man  I  thought — no  proper  mate 

For  Madam  Cecil.     She 

Miss  PRIMWOOD.  You  think  so,  eh? — 

Men    never    will    know    women.       This     is 

hers — 

Her  party — making  those  not  thirsty  drink, 
And  eat,  too,  with  no  appetite, — and  dance, 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  347 

When  prudence  knows,  they  ought  to  be  in 
bed.] 

Enter — Right — MILLY,    carrying    a    tray 
containing  a  reddish-colored  liquid  in 
glasses.     She  stops  before  BLAVER. 
BLAVER  (to  MILLY). 
Ah, — what  is  this? 
MILLY.  Iced  tea. 

BLAVER  Why,  that  will  be 

Refreshing,  very ! — Here !  (pointing  to  the  chairs 
near  the  table).     Iced  tea! 

(To  MILLY.)     Yes,  yes. 
(BLAVER  and   Miss   P.   sit  at  the  table. 
MILLY  places  two  glasses  of  the  red 
dish-colored  liquid  before  them.) 
BLAVER  (continuing  the  interrupted  conversation). 
Where  none  wish  levity,  affairs  like  this 
Create  it.     I  have  known  most  sober  men 
Grow  indiscreet — (tasting  the  tea.} 

This  is  good,  yes — and  make 
All  that  they  pray  for  seem  ridiculous. 
Enter — Left  and  Right — couples  walking  together. 

Exit — Left — MILLY. 
Enter — Right — JEM    carrying    a    tray    on   which 

are  plates  containing  refreshments  to  eat. 
Miss  PRIMWOOD   (looking  in  disapprobation  at 

the  couples) . 

And  scenes  like  this,  too,  cater  to  flirtation — 
(looking  at  two  elderly  people  together.) 


348  CECIL   THE  SEER. 

In  them  so  old,  too,  they  should  be  above  it. 
(Miss  PRIMWOOD'S  spoon  that  she  has  been 
using,  falls   to    the   floor. —  BLAVER 
hands  Miss  P.  his  spoon  that- he  has 
not  used,  at  the  same  time  picking  up 
Miss  P's.  spoon  and  significantly  plac 
ing  it  in  his  own  cup.) 
BLAVER.     Precisely ! 

Miss  P.       Yes,  at  times,  it  makes  me  feel — 
BLAVER  (who  evidently  has  lost  the  connection  of 

thought) . 

Flirtation  makes  you  feel? 
Miss  P.  (in  evident  disgust).     Oh  no;  not  that! 

QEM  stands  before  them  with  his  tray.) 
BLAVER  (noticing  JEM,  and  taking  the  plates  from 
his  tray  for  Miss  P.  and  himself,  as  if 
thinking  Miss  P.  referred  to  these). 
Oh  yes,  I  see! 

Miss  P.  (disliking  his  inference  with  reference  to 
the  meaning  of  her  former  words) . 

No,  no! 

BLAVER  (referring  to  the  plates) .    Not  take  them  ? 

Miss    P.   *  These? 

Oh    yes,    I    thank    you.— You    mistook    my 

meaning. 
I  sometimes  think  that  none  should  feel  at  all. 

Exit— Right— JEM  . 

Exeunt — Right  and  Left — the  promenading 
Couples. 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  349 

BLAVER.     No,  in  flirtation  none  should  feel  at 

all. 

Miss  P.     No,  no,  no !  not  in  that — in  anything. 
If   none   would  feel,   none  would  have  dis 
content  ; 

And  that  would  cure  all  evils  of  the  time. 
[BLAVER.     Yes,  that  is  true.     Why,  even  small 
boys  now, 

Must  have  small  beer 

Miss  P.  For  that  will  pop,  you  know! 

Will  make  a  noise!  explode  monotony!] 
Our  slaves  now  even  hint  of  earning  wages; 
And  girls,  once  clad  in  bonnets  and  in  slippers, 
Now  strut  in  hats  and  boots. 
BLAVER.  And  where,  strut  where? 

Miss  P.     Well  put,  well  put,  my  friend!     They 

strut  for  schools 

In  which  they  study,  think  and  talk  like  boys. 
[BLAVER.     And  times  that  do  not  like  a  cackling 

hen, 

And  seek  to  fill  their  coops  with  fowl  that  crow, 
Will  not  get  many  eggs. 
Miss  P.  No,  no;  will  not! — 

Think  what  a  scandal,  if  our  highest  courts 

BLAVER.     Should  not  court  women  of  the  high 
est  kind. 

Miss  P.  Precisely;  and  o'errule  th'  iniquity 
That  gives  free  entrance  into  men's  resorts 
Of  maids 


350  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

BLAVER.     That  in  your  school  are  prized  like 

jewels!] 
(BLAVER  and  Miss  P.  continue  their  conversation 

aside.) 

Enter — Left  Rear — CECIL  and  FATHER  HYCHER. 
CECIL.     Yes,  Father  Hycher ;  but  you  know  our 

laws 

Have  never  recognized  the  churches  thus. 
FATHER  H.     But  we  have  rights — 
CECIL.  To  change  the  laws  you  have, 

But  not  to  break  them. 
FATHER  H.     Did  one  merely  waive 

The  letter  of  the  law,  what  could  be  harmed? 

Enter — Left  Rear — FREEMAN. 
CECIL.     One's  conscience,   if  he  went  against 

the  law, — 

One's  heed  of  right, — a  fact,  I  take  it,  Father, 
You  ought  to  see. 

FATHER  H.  I  do  not  see  it  so; 

And  if  I  did,  above  it  I  could  see 
A  higher  law. 

Exit— Left  Rear— FATHER  H. 
[CECIL  (to  FREEMAN). 

Humph,  humph!  we  live  to  learn. 
It  seems  that  even  formalists  like  him 
Can   see   some   spirit   through   a   form;   but 

what?— 

One  time  upon  a  mountain  top,  I  saw 
My  own  shape  magnified  on  clouds  about  me. 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  351 

How  many  men  in  earth's  high  places  find, 
Looming  on  clouds  of  false  regard  about  them, 
False  forms  of  self,  distorted  in  their  size ! 
To  waken  such  to  their  own  true  position, 
Thank  heaven  for  precipices !     When  they  fall , 
Their  views  of  God  and  self,  turned  upside 

down, 

May  bring,  at  last,  conversion.] 
(CECIL  and  FREEMAN  move  toward  the  right  near 
where  BLAVER  and  Miss  P.  are  sitting. 
Both  rise.} 

Miss  P.  Oh,    Professor, 

Professor  Cecil,  how  your  ears  must  burn! 
You  know  the  rumors  that  are  in  the  wind. 
CECIL  (bowing  and  motioning  them  to  be  seated}. 
Trust  not  in  words  with  wind  alone  to  back 

them. 

Nothing  is  quite  so  empty  as  the  sky 
Behind  a  blow,  when  once  it  has  blown  by. 
Miss  P.     That  does  for  you  to  say;  but  you  two 

friends,  (bowing  to  BLAVER.) 
Your  judgment,  (bowing  to  CECIL.) 

and  your  judgments,  when  they  rule 
Our  civil,  social,  educational  ways, 
Will  put  a  close  to  some  things. 
CECIL.  To  their  life? 

Miss  P.     How  you  enjoy  a  joke! — You  read, 

not  so?  (gesturing  toward  BLAVER.) 
The  deacon's  latest  work? 


352  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

CECIL.  To  tell  the  truth, 

I  have  not  yet 

Miss  P.  So  little  interest?— 

CECIL.     Of  course  the  question  has  two  sides 

BLAVER  (aside  to  FREEMAN).       Two  sides? — 

It  has  but  one.     I  see — he  is  not  with  us. 
Miss  P.     The  great  book  of  the  age! 
BLAVER  (to  Miss  P).  You  flatter  me. 

(to  CECIL). 

[She  likes  my  essay,  since,  on  general  grounds, 
As  I  detail  the  duties  of  the  state, 
I  argue  prohibition  by  the  whole 
Of  all  things  detrimental  to  the  part, 
Applying  this,  not  only  to  the  cause 
To  which  my  life  is  pledged,  but  with  this,  too, 
To  questions  like  the  giving  of  instruction 
To  slaves,  and  free  tuition  to  poor  whites, 
And  throwing  open  to  our  girls  and  women 
The  State  schools,  not  the  ones  to  train  their 

sex. 

It  is  my  proving  of  this  latter  point 
Enlists  her  praise,  whose  long — 
i     (Miss  P.  straightens  up  and  draws  back.} 

no,  I  mean  wide — 

Whose  wide  experience,  as  the  principal 
Of  our  first  female  college,  seals  her  right 
To  criticise  all  efforts  of  the  State 
To  train  our  girls  in  different  schools  from 
hers. 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  353 

CECIL  (in  good-natured  banter). 

Ah,  yes,  I  see.     The  same  boat  floats  you  both. 
You   pull   together.     Friends   are   worth   the 

having 
Who  best  can  serve  themselves  when  serving 

us.] 
Miss  P.     Oh,   you  must  read  his  book! — will 

like  it  too; 

If  but  for  what  it  says  of  slaves  and  women. 
CECIL.     You  class  the  two  together?     I  should 

not. 
FREEMAN,     (aside  to  CECIL).    How  women  love 

their  fetters! — Best,  perhaps! 
They    make    sweet    slaves,    but    very    bitter 
masters. 

Exit — Right — FREEMAN. 
Miss  P.     You  would  not  open  then  our  college 

doors 

To  women  ? 

CECIL.  Why  not? 

Miss  P.  Why,  our  boys  and  girls 

Might  think  of  love! 

CECIL.  That  would  be  no  new  thing; 

And,  being  wont  to  walk  in  love,  when  young, 

They  might  be  much  less  prone  to  fall  in  love, 

In  ways  not  wise,  when  older. 

Miss  P.  But  their  minds 

Are  so  unlike ! — 

CECIL.  And  never  can  be  matched 

23 


354  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

Until  they  learn  to  share  each  other's  aims. 
Souls    are   not   mated    when    two    forms    of 

flesh 
Join    hands,    or    merely    share   each    other's 

arms. 
Miss  P.     And  you  would  have  them  like  each 

other? 
CECIL.  Yes. 

It  seems  important  if  they  are  to  marry. 
Like  ought  to  go  with  like.     And  paths  that 

push 
Young  men  and  maids  together,  whet  their 

wits 

And  make  their  weddings  wise  ones. 
[Miss  P.  Always? 

CECIL.  No; 

But  oftener,  yes  much  oftener  so,  than  else- 
wise. 

Where  true  love  is  the  treasure  to  be  sought, 
One  glimpse  of  nature  is  a  better  guide 
Than  all  the  forms  of  calculating  art 
That  ever  powdered  an  instinctive  flush, 
Or  rouged  pale  hate,  in  any  masquerade 
That  men  call  good  society.] 
Miss  P.  But  few 

Would  think  you  had  so  much  romance  in 

you. 

[CECIL.     All  have  romance,  if  only  they  have 
soul. 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  355 

They  differ  but  in  their  expressions  of  it. 
Enter — Right  Rear — JEM  with  a  tray  holding 

refreshments. 
Miss  P.     And  most  of  them  believe,  with  Deacon 

Blaver, 

It  should  not  be  expressed  in  school. 
CECIL.  Why  not? 

Romance  is  but  the  day-time  of  the  soul 
Well  sunned  by  love,  beneath  which,  when  we 

dwell, 

Each  act  of  duty  and  each  thought  of  truth 
Is  haloed  with  a  light  that  seems  like  heaven's. 
To  spirits  rightly  moved,  the  whole  of  life, — 
Home,  school,  religion — all  lead  through  ro 
mance. 

QEM  speaks  aside  to  CECIL.) 
(BLAVER  and  Miss  P.  rise  while  CECIL  gestures  to 
ward  the  chairs,  JEM  and  the  refreshments.) 
CECIL.     Oh,  pray  be  seated,  and  take  more. 
Miss  P.  Thanks. 

BLAVER.  Thanks. 

QEM  removes  from  the  table  the  empty  glasses  and 

plates,  and  substitutes  full  ones.) 
Miss  P.     And  do  you  then  approve,  do  you 

admire 

Lean,   short-haired  women,   and  lank,   long 
haired  men, 

Exchanging  shawls  and  coats,  and  stripping 
life 


356  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

Of  character,  to  make  it  caricature? 

Exit — Right    Rear — JEM. 
CECIL.     I  do  not  much  admire  the  straw  in 

spring 
That   forms   the  spread  of   flower-beds;   but 

beneath 
Sleep  summer's  fairest  offspring.     What  you 

moot 

May  show  two  sides.    A  man  may  be  run  down 
Amid  the  clash  and  clangor  of  a  street, 
Because  one  ear  is  deaf.     In  any  path, 
The  rush  of  life  may  run  down  all  who  hear 
But  on  one  side.] 

Enter — Right — FREEMAN. 
[Miss  P.  But  when  one  side  is  right. 

CECIL.     The  right  is  that  to  which  the  world 

moves  on. 

You  cross  its  track  to  stop  it;  it  moves  on, 
You  fall.] 
(CECIL  bows  and  turns  toward  FREEMAN.   BLAVER 

and  Miss  P.  bow,  then  continue  conversing.) 
[Miss  P.     And  this  he  does  not  mean  to  do 
For  my  cause  or  for  yours.     Trust  me  for 

that. 
BLAVER.     His  friends  must  see  he  does  not  get 

so  high 
That  falling  far  will  hurt  him.] 

(BLAVER  and  Miss  P.  sit  down;  and  talk 
aside,  till,  after  a  little,  BLAVER  points 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  357 

vigorously  toward  the  Right  Front. 
Then  both  rise,  taking  plates  and 
glasses  with  them,  and  exeunt  at  the 
Right  Front.) 

Enter— Left  Rear— MADAM   CECIL,  MA 
DAM  LOWE  and  LOWE,  carrying   his 
plans. 
MADAM  CECIL.     We  shall  find  him. 

(to  CECIL.) 
Oh,  here  you  arel     Come  look  at  these — 

(pointing  to  LOWE'S  plans.)  these  plans. 
Are  just  the  thing  the  city  needs.     We  two 
Were  searching  all  the  house  for  you. 
(MADAM  CECIL  and  MADAM  LOWE  remain  near 

the  Left  Rear.) 

CECIL    motions    to    FREEMAN    indicating 
that  he  look  at  the  plans  with  him, 
which  FREEMAN  does. 
CECIL  (replying  partly  to  MADAM  C.  and  partly 

speaking  to  LOWE).  I  see. 

LOWE  (pointing  to  a  part  of  the  plan).     And  see 

the  church  here? 
CECIL.  Oh!  is  that  the    church? 

But  I  thought  you  a  Friend? 
LOWE.  The  company 

Are  world's  folk — will  not  build  a  meeting. 

So 

We  would  not  quarrel  with  them.     We  build 
this. 


358  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

FREEMAN  (laughing  good-naturedly). 

You  beat  the  Masonic  order.     They  but  make 

A  show  of  their  religion  when  they  lay 

A  corner-stone.     You  lay  out  for  it  now. 
LOWE.     Ah  yes!     With  me  religion  is  the  chief 

Consideration.     Think  how  poor  our  life 

Would  be  without  religion. 
FREEMAN.  Be  less  rich, 

You  think. 
LOWE.  Just  so;  for  there  is  nothing  like 

A  church  to  elevate  the  character 

FREEMAN.     Of  real  estate,  I  see— 
LOWE  (half  realizing  that  he  is  being  made  a  butt.) 

And  people  too. 
[FREEMAN.     No  people  live  here  yet  ? 

LOWE.  Ah,  but  they  will 

FREEMAN.     If  you  do  what  is  right  to  draw  them 
here. 

To   build   a   church   is   right — not   so? — and 
right 

Is  your  religion. 
LOWE.  Yes ;  but  one  might  think 

His  motives  were  not  rightly  understood. 
FREEMAN  (glancing  toward  CECIL  significantly}. 

I  think  we  understand  them  perfectly. 
LOWE  (looking  particularly  toward  CECIL). 

And  like  the  plans  then  ? 
FREEMAN.  Oh,  he  must — as  plans. 

They  plan  so  far  ahead. 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  359 

LOWE.  A  man  who  sees 

A  mountain  in  his  path  that  must  be  climbed, 
Will  make  more  effort.     Effort  is  our  need. 
With  such  a  plan  as  this,  our  friends  will  know 
We  need  more  money,  and  will  find  us  more.] 
CECIL.     Quite  true. 
(MADAM  CECIL  comes  to  them.     FREEMAN  turns 

to  speak  to  MADAM  LOWE.) 
LOWE  (to  CECIL). 

Am  glad  to  meet  your  approbation. 
CECIL.     Not  that,  quite  that!     Men  take  too 

many  chances 
In  drawing  facts  from  fancies.     I  shall  need 

To  weigh 

Exeunt — Right    Rear — FREEMAN    and    MADAM 

LOWE. 

LOWE  (half  in  earnest  turning  to  MADAM  CECIL)  . 
If  friends  thus  judge  us  as  our  foes  do, 
What  good  then  does  it  do  to  have  a  friend  ? 
CECIL  (earnestly  and  good-naturedly). 
To  prove  to  all  the  justice  of  our  souls 
That    wish    for    friends    both    generous    and 
just. — 

(taking  the  plans  in  his  hands!) 
One  cannot  fully  take  these  in,  at  first. 

Enter — Right  Rear — JEM. 

MADAM  C.  (to  LOWE,  as  if  with  a  covert  meaning). 
You  leave  them  here.     We  must  look  over 
them. 


CECIL  THE  SEER. 

(She  motions  toward  JEM,  to  whom  CECIL 
hands  the  plans,  at  the  same  time 
motioning  to  him  to  take  them  to  the 
Left.  JEM  turns,  and  presently,) 

Exit — Left  Rear — JEM. 

(When  CECIL  and  MADAM  C.  turn  toward  JEM, 
LOWE  turns  toward  the  Right,  evidently  dis 
satisfied.) 

Exit — Right  Rear — LOWE. 
MADAM  C.  (to  CECIL,  and  evidently  annoyed  to  see 

LOWE  leaving  them). 

Kraft,    Hycher,    Lowe  and  Blaver, — all,   to 
night, 

All  frown  at  things  that  you  have  said  to  them. 
Why  will  you  always  give  these  men  offense? 
CECIL.     Because  I  give  them  truth. 
MADAM    C.  Truth  is  for  fools. 

CECIL.     I  give  it  to  them. 

MADAM  C.  Humph!     It  comes  from  fools. 

CECIL.     Yes,  if  they  think  men  want  it  I  do  not. 

They  merely  need  it. 

MADAM  C.  Need?     What  for? 

CECIL.  Their  good — 

Their  own,  and — say — humanity's. 
MADAM  C.  The  good 

All  seek  from  men  like  you,  is  leadership. 
But   he   who   leads   men   up,    himself   must 

mount 
Where  he  appears  above  them. 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  361 

CECIL.  How  and  where 

He  mounts,  depends  on  that  in  which  he  leads. 
A  leader  in  the  truth  would  better  kneel 
Upon  the  footstool  of  a  throne,  than  sit 
Upon  it,  crowned  by  falsehood. 

MADAM  C.  Would  you  were, 

But  what  I  thought  you  were  when  we  were 
wed! 

[CECIL  (kindly}. 

Come,  come,   your  wishes,  like  wild  steeds, 

escape 

The  reining  of  your  reason,  and  may  wreck  it. 
Why  wish  a  station  higher  than  we  have? 

MADAM  C.     For  you — your  influence. 

CECIL.  Nay,  in  that  you  err. 

True  words  alone  are  weapons  of  true  thought. 
If  I  be  free  to  use  these,  I  am  free 
To  be  truth's  champion.     If,  to  gain  the  place 
You  wish  me,  or  to  hold  it,  being  gained, 
I  let  my  tongue  be  tied,  I  live  a  slave.] 

MADAM  C. 

A  woman  wrecked  at  sea,  would  better  lash 
The  anchor  to  her  throat,  than  try  to  breast 
The  waves  of  life  in  such  a  world  as  this, 
Wed  to  a  man  without  ambition.     She 
Could  not  sink  sooner. 

CECIL  (gazing  and  gesturing  at  their  surroundings] . 

Do  you  sink,  my  wife, 
With  such  surroundings? 


362  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

MADAM  C.  Yes,  for  power  and  wealth 

Both  loom  before  you.     When  I  tell  it  you, 
And  strive  to  urge  you  toward  them,   you, 

blind  loot, 

Squat,  blinking  like  an  owl;  or,  if  you  stir, 
But  flutter,  blunder,  miss  your  aim,  and  fall 
From  off  the  very  branch,  the  topmost  branch, 
You  ought  to  perch  upon. 
CECIL.  Alas,  my  wife, 

I  thought  you  loved  me  for  the  man  I  was. 
I  never  wrought  or  wished  for  wealth. 
MADAM  C.  Oh,  drone, 

That    I   could   sting   you,    as   do   bees   their 

drones 

That  make  no  honey ! 

CECIL.  You  do  sting  at  times. 

That    pleases    you? — But    you   have   better 

moods. 

I  never  could  have  thought  I  loved  you  else. 
Why  blame  my  soul,  because  it  must  be  true 
To  higher  aims  and  higher  influence  ? 
If,  seeking  these,  this  world's  promotion  come, 
Let  come !     I  take  it  then  by  right  divine. 
MADAM  C.     Fanatic!     Do  you  think  in  men's 

mad  rush, 
Each  toward  his  own  life's  goal,  they  wrest 

the  power 

That    makes    another    serve    them,    without 
work? — 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  363 

Skill?  shrewdness?  tact?  and  forcing  to  the 

wall, 

Or  down  the  precipice,  each  weaker  rival? 
CECIL.     I  do,  if  power  that  crowns  them  come 

from  God. 
MADAM  C.     The  power  that  crowns  one  with 

success  on  earth 
Is  earthly.     Keen  men  know  this.     Not,  not 

God": 

The  devil  rules  the  world. 
CECIL.  God  overrules  it. 

MADAM  C.     In  far  results,  but  in  the  near  ones 

never ! 
CECIL.     Then  look  to  far  results.     Transferring 

there 
These  transient  whims, — ah  you  will  find  them 

melt, 
Like  summer  mist,  while,  rock-bound  under 

them, 
Each    goal   remains   that    your   true   nature 

craves. 

Why  seek  for  riches,  when  we  have  enough? 
MADAM  C.     Enough!     Oh,  sluggard!     Have  we 

that? 
CECIL.         We  have — 

Enough  for  comfort,  not  enough  for  care; 
Enough  to  make  us  grateful  for  the  wage 
Rewarding  earnest  work;  but  not  enough 
To  bind  long  habit  to  their  fate  whose  course 


364  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

While  serving  earth  has  made  them  slaves  to 

it. 
The  peace   of  life   crowns  competence,   not 

wealth. 

The  wise  man  wants  no  more. 
MADAM  C.  But  woman  does. 

Exit — Right  Rear — MADAM  CECIL. 
CECIL.     Then  let  no  wise  man  marry.     Cursed 

fate!— 

[This  trudging  on  and  on  in  paths  of  right, 
And   knowing   every   pace    takes    one   more 

stride 
Away    from    all    one    loves! — From    all    one 

loves  ? — 
No,  no; — from  all  that,  once,  one  thought  he 

loved. 

Oh,  cruel  customs  of  a  cruel  world, 
Which  damn  us  for  those  dreams  that  seem  to 

be 

Our  holiest  inspirations!     Cruel  dreams, 
That  never  prove  delusions,  till  the  world 
Welds  bonds   for  us   that    death   alone   can 

break ! 

And  cruel  bonds  that  make  all  happiness, 
In  one  so  bound,  impossibility, 
Unless  he  live  a  sneak's  life — who  is  this?] 

Enter — Left  Rear — CELIA. 
Why  Celia ! 
CELIA.         I  have  come  to  tell  you,  friend, 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  365 

The  man  I  fear  is  here.     I  saw  his  face, 

And  like  a  thunder-cloud  foretelling  storm 

CECIL.     Come  first  where  we  shall  not  be  over 
heard. 

Exeunt — Right  Front — CECIL  and  CELIA. 
Enter — Right  Rear — FREEMAN  and  FAITH. 
FREEMAN.     You  love  me,  Faith.     Your  manner 

tells  me  so. 
FAITH.     Your  rival,  Freeman,  is  no  man,  mere 

man. 
FREEMAN.     You  are  deceived.  You  vow  through 

— to — a  man. 
And  he  will  treat  you — how? — His  door  is 

locked: 
He   holds   the   key.     Your   uncle,   though   a 

priest, 
Has  eyes  upon  your  wealth.     The  thing  is 

proved. 

Your  dying  father  feared  this.     Faith,  I  knew 
His  wish  for  you.     Trust  him,  trust  me,  your 

friend, 

Disrobed  of  mystery,  save  th'  eternal  one 
Which  thrills  us  now,  whom  heaven  has  made 

formates. 
[FAITH.     I  would  not  give  you  up  so,  save  to  wed 

A  holier  spouse. 

FREEMAN.  Yet  one  that  is,  at  times, 

A  Moloch,  clasping  in  his  arms  of  fire 
Desires  he  kindles,  but  can  never  quench. 


366  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

FAITH.     Oh,    Freeman,    when    you    speak,    I 

tremble  so ! 

You  fill  my  soul  with  fears  for  you;  but,  ah, 
With  fears  that  are  so  sweet,  again  I  fear 
That  my  own  soul  is  what  I  most  should 

fear. 
FREEMAN.     The  wise  fright  off  their  fears  by 

facing  them. 

Will  you  not  be  my  bride?     Be  this  and  use 
Your    freedom  as  your    father  would    have 

wished.] 

Enter — Left  Rear — FATHER  HYCHER. 
FATHER  H.  (to  FAITH). 

What? — Have  I  warned  you,  Faith,  so  many 

times  ? 

And  you  still  parley  with  this  infidel? — 
Obey  me  now! — Away!     No  more  of  this! 
(Faith    moves    toward    the    Left    Front — 
FREEMAN  starts  to  follow  her.    FATHER 
HYCHER  calls  to  him.} 
You  will  not  follow  her? — 

Exit— Left  Front— FAITH. 
FREEMAN.  No? — wherefore  not? 

FATHER  H.     I  am  her  uncle. 
FREEMAN.  Not  her  father,  though ! 

FATHER  H.     Her  spirit's — I  direct  her  steps. 
FREEMAN.  Step-father? — 

In  that  role  men  like  you  are  just  ideal ! 
But  I  am,  that  which  you  are  not — her  friend. 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  367 

FATHER  H.     You  are  a  young  man  with  a  young 

man's  dreams. 
FREEMAN.     You  are  an  old  man;  and  an  old 

man  schemes. 

And  she  has  wealth,  and  you  have  use  for  it. 
[FATHER  H.     And  you  think  you  have  none! 

Oho,  young  man, 
When  you  have  read  yourself,  you  may  be 

heard 

When  trying  to  read  others.     But  we  waste 
Our  time.     I  am  her  guardian;  and  you 
Should  act  the  gentleman. 
FREEMAN.  Which  when  I  act, 

I  shall  not  take  my  lessons  all  from  you. 
FATHER  H.     Take  this  at  least. — A  gentleman 

is  one 

Who  never  does  the  unexpected. 
FREEMAN.  Well, 

By  that  test  you  can  pass.     I  grant  it  you. 
All  you  have  done  has  been  in  character. 
You  call  me  infidel;  but,  Father  Hycher, 
The  infidel  is  one  who  does  not  trust 
The  God    that    made    and    moves  the  soul 

within. 

If  Faith  did  not  desire  another  life 
Than  you  have  planned,  you  might  be  wise 

and  kind. 

FATHER  H.     Poor  youth,  when  you  know  more 
about  the  world 


368  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

FREEMAN.     I  shall  know  more  about  such  men 

as  you ; 
Know  how  the  dust  of  earth  can  make  one 

blind, 
And  din  can  make  one  deaf,  till  skies  can 

blaze 

And  heaven's  voice  thunder,  yet  no  sight  nor 
sound 

Reach 

FATHER  H.  (sarcastically).     What? — 
FREEMAN.     What  was  a  soul!    But  there  are 

souls 

Are  stolen  too  when  stoled.  The  devil's  hand 
Out-does  the  deacon's.  There  is  nothing  left 
But  vestment.  All  the  barterer's  priceless 

birthright 

Goes  for  the  mess  of  pottage  that  he  feeds  on. 
Not  strange  such  like  to  limit  others'  joys, 
Turn  nature  inside  out  and  upside  down, 
Claim  spirit  rules  where  all  are  slaves  of  sense, 
And  heaven  their  realm,  though  all  is  rimmed 

by  hell.] 

FATHER  H.     Humph,  humph,  my  friend,  you  yet 
shall  writhe  for  this. 
Exit — Left  Front — FATHER  HYCHER. 
Enter — Right  Front — CECIL  and  CELIA. 
CECIL  (to  FREEMAN.) 

Why,  friend,   you  seem  excited.     What  has 
roiled  you  ? 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  369 

FREEMAN.     Oh  nothing,  nothing,  nothing  but 

a  toad 

That  squat  upon  a  flower  here  in  your  garden ! 
CECIL.     Here  is   another  flower  may  take  its 

place. 
I    must   attend  the    guests,    and   this,    our 

friend, 

Needs  your  protection.     She  will  tell  you  why. 
I  leave  her  with  you. 

Enter — Right  Rear — MADAM  CECIL. 
(CECIL  continues  to  CELIA,  taking  her  hand.) 

And  remember,  Celia, 

You  must  not  fail  to  stay  with  us  to-night. 
(FREEMAN  and  CELIA  move  toward  the  alcove  at 

the  Right.) 
MADAM  CECIL  (to  CECIL). 

I  thought  so!  I  have  spied  this  play  before. 
Men  seldom  waive  the  wishes  of  their  wives 
Except  to  welcome  other  women's  wishes. — 
You  have  forgotten  you  have  other  guests. 
A  storm  is  coming  on.  They  wish  to  leave; 
And  we  should  speed  their  parting.  Shall  we 

go? 

FREEMAN  (to  CELIA,  motioning  toward  the  alcove). 
By  staying  here,  we  may  keep  out  the  way. 
Exeunt — Left  Rear — CECIL  and   MADAM 
C.     FREEMAN  and  CELIA  seat  them 
selves  in  the  alcove. 

Enter — Left  Rear — FATHER  and  WIDOW  HYCHER. 
24 


370  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

FATHER  H.  (to  WIDOW  H). 

Let  him  have  all  her  money  that  you  live  on? — 

Not  I! 
WIDOW  H.  (to  FATHER  H.).  He  shall  not  call  on 

Faith  again. 

FATHER  H.     She  may  be  out? 
WIDOW  H.  She  may. — And  you,  you  liked 

The  altar  cloth? 
FATHER  H.          Embroidered  wonderously ! 

Your  candlesticks  too  go  so  well  now  with 

FREEMAN  (to  CELIA). 

Ideals  from  dark  ages? 

WIDOW  H.  (to  FATHER  H.).     When  you  pray — 
FATHER  H.  (to  WIDOW  H.). 

Their  lights  appear  like  starlight  sprinkling  me 

With  spray-drops  of  the  heaven-light  whence 
it  came — 

I  think  of  you. 
WIDOW  H.  (to  FATHER  H.). 

Of  me,  and  not  of  God? 
FATHER  H.  (to  WIDOW  H.). 

Of  you  because  of  God. — Who  could  forget 

Your  share  in  rendering  His  house  attractive  ? 
FREEMAN  (to  CELIA). 

Especially  in  the  front  pew  with  her  bonnet, — 

Heaved    at    him    like    some    second    flower- 
crowned  censer. 
FATHER  H.  (to  WIDOW  H). 

I  think  that  all  men  must  have  noticed  this 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  371 

FREEMAN  (to  CELIA). 

The  usual  result: — heads  crown'd  with  flowers 
Nod  most  for  bees  that  buzz  and  sting  about 

them. 
WIDOW  H.  (to  FATHER  H.] 

And  Cecil — will  you  aid  him? 
FATHER  H.  (to  WIDOW  H.).     Humph!  a  cause 

Once  lost  is  not  the  one  I  follow. 
Exeunt — Left — FATHER    HYCHER    and    WIDOW 

HYCHER. 
CELIA  (to  FREEMAN).  Cause? — 

Does  he  mean  Cecil's? 

FREEMAN.  Hope  so!     Happy  Cecil! — 

High  noon  will  come  for  him  when  he  can 

see 

A  form  like  that  one  shadowing  him  no  more. 
CELIA.     I  think  it  always  may  seem  noon  to 

those 

Who  trample  all  their  shadows  underfoot 
As  he  does. 
Enter — Right  Rear — LOWE  and  MADAM  LOWE. 

(The    air    becomes    gradually    darker.} 
FREEMAN    (pointing    toward    the    Right    Rear). 
Very  true !     But  what  of  those 
Who  deem  it  wise  to  keep  themselves  in  shade, 
Held  as  a  shield  to  ward  away  the  light 
With  every  ray  of  color  that  might  reach 

them, 
As  if  they  thought  it  their  worst  enemy? 


372  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

LOWE  (to  MADAM  LOWE). 

The  air  seems  weighted  with  a  coming  storm. 
FREEMAN  (to  CELIA). 

Their  airs  appear  so.     Yes. 
MADAM  L.  (to  LOWE).     Must  hurry  home. 

(Thunder  in  the  distance.} 

How  near  i     We  should  have  been  at  meeting ! 
LOWE  (to  MADAM  L.)     Yes, 

But  if  we  had  been  there,  how  could  one  then 
Have  shown  those  plans? 
MADAM  L.   (to  LOWE).    Of   course,  we   had  to 

come, 

But  this  man  Cecil  seems  not  pious. 
LOWE  (to  MADAM  L.).     No; 

You  heard  how  they  made  light  of  that  new 

building, — 

One,  too,  for  their  own  sect! 
MADAM  L.  (to  LOWE). 

Yes,  I  have  heard 

Enough  for  once.     That  irreligious  music! 
LOWE  (to  MADAM  L.). 

And  noise  and  dancing!     It  was  fortunate 
The  supper-room  was  opened  early. 
MADAM  L.  (to  LOWE).  Yes. 

(Distant  thunder.) 
LOWE  (to  MADAM  L.). 

And  one  good  thing ! — this  thunder  storm  will 

end  it. 
Exeunt — Left  Rear — LOWE  and  MADAM  LOWE. 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  373 

FREEMAN  (to  CELIA). 

I  wonder  if  they  really  grudge  each  draft 
Of  those  enjoying  what  is  past  their  taste? 
I  hate  to  think  it,  yet  at  times,  one  must, 
That  some  men  deem  mere  conscious  envy 

conscience ; 
And  seem  most  zealous  when  they  are  but 

jealous. 

(Thunder  louder  than  before.     CELIA  and  FREE 
MAN  both  rise.) 

But  hear  the  storm.     I  think  it  best  you  stay 
Inside  the  study. 

(FREEMAN    points    toward    the   Left    Rear.) 
CELIA  (pointing  toward  the  Left  Front). 

We  can  pass  through  here. 
FREEMAN.     And  I  must  go,  and  call  these  men 

I  know, 

Detectives — good  ones — they  will  shadow  him. 
Exeunt — Left  Front — FREEMAN  and  CELIA. 
Enter — Left  Rear — BLAVER,  LOWE,  Miss 
PRIM  WOOD  and  MADAM  LOWE,  and 
others,   all  with  hats  and  cloaks,  evi 
dently  prepared  to  leave  the  house. 
BLAVER  (to  LOWE). 

I  used  to  have  some  confidence  in  Cecil. 
LOWE  (to  BLAVER). 

But  now  he  shows  this  lack  of  enterprise ! 
BLAVER.     A  man  like  him  will  never  aid  my  plans, 
Nor  yours. 


374  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

Enter — Left  Rear;  and  Exeunt  Right  Rear 

— FATHER  HYCHER,  WIDOW  HYCHER 

and  FAITH,  prepared  to  leave  the  house; 

also  FREEMAN. 

Enter — Left  Rear — MADAM   CECIL,  followed  by 

JEM. 
LOWE.       And  wise  men,  when  they  fear  a  fight, 

Will  never  lend  one  weapon  to  a  foe. 
MADAM  C.  (to  Miss  PRIMWOOD). 

You  leave  us  in  a  storm. 

BLAVER  (to  MADAM  CECIL).     No  storm  as  yet. 
I  thank  you  for  a  very  pleasant  evening 

(shaking  hands  with  MADAM  C.). 
MADAM  C.  (shaking  hands  with  BLAVER). 
Good  evening,     (to  JEM.) 

Here,  Jem,  show  them  to  the  gate. 
MADAM  C.  motions  to  JEM  who  Exits  at 
the    Right    Rear — Miss    PRIMWOOD, 
then  LOWE,  then  MADAM  LOWE,  also 
others,  shake  hands  with  MADAM  C. 
Miss  P.     Good-night. 
MADAM  C.  Good-night. 

LOWE.  Good-night. 

MADAM  L.  Good-night. 

MADAM  C.  Good-night. 

Exeunt — Right  Rear — BLAVER  with  Miss 
PRIMWOOD,     LOWE     with     MADAM 
LOWE  and  others. 
Enter — Right  Front — KRAFT. 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  375 

KRAFT.     Where  went  your  husband? 
MADAM    C.         He  ? — With  guests,  perhaps. 
KRAFT.     Or,  say,  with  Celia. 
MADAM  C.  What? — Your  scheme 

has  failed? 

KRAFT.     Not  yet;  my  men  are  here. 
Enter — Right    Rear — JEM. 
(Thunder  and  lightning — KRAFT  points  toward 

JEM.)     You  send  for  him, 
And  I  will  send  for  her. 

MADAM  C.  (to  JEM).     Jem,  find  your  master. 
I  wish  to  see  him.     Say  it  is  important. 
Exit — Left  Rear — JEM. 

(to  KRAFT.) 

[Now  let  him  leave  her  but  one  little  mo 
ment, 
As  leave   he   must,  and   we  shall   have   her 

seized. 
And  may  a  pall,  as  black  as  tops  this  night, 

(Thunder  and  lightning.) 

Come  down,  and  hide  her  face  from  us  for 
ever.] 
KRAFT  beckons  toward  the  Right  Front. 

Enter— Right  Front— Two  MEN. 

Exeunt — Left  Front — KRAFT  and  the  Two  MEN. 

Enter — Left  Rear — CECIL. 

(Thunder  and  lightning.) 

CECIL    (to    MADAM    CECIL).       What    is    your 
wish? 


376  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

MADAM  C.     What  care  you,  for  my  wish? 
Oh,  I  was  but  a  fool,  to  wed  a  fool! 
Like  goes  with  like.     I  now  acknowledge  it. 

(Thunder  and  lightning.) 
You  might  have  been — ah  me! — what  might 

you  not  ? 

Position,  wealth, — all  waited  on  your  nod. 
You   have   dismissed   them   by   your   course 

to-night ; 
But  one  hope  now  remains,  and  that  through 

Kraft. 
Enter — Left  Rear — in  trepidation,  CELIA. 

(Thunder  and  lightning.) 
CELIA.     Help!     help! 
CECIL  (to  CELIA). 

Come  here.     What  is  it? 
CELIA.  He — with  men! 

They  come  to  take  me. 

CECIL.  That  they  shall  not  do. 

MADAM  C.     Wait,  wait!     Her  guardian  claims 

her.     Who  are  you? 
CECIL.     A  man  who  shields  a  woman. 
MADAM    C.  If  she  lie? — 

CECIL.     Then  he  can  prove  it. 
MADAM  C.  Dare  you  tell  him  that? — 

Him,   Kraft, — the  man  on  whom   alone   de 
pends 

Your  chance  now  for  promotion? 
(Thunder  and  lightning.) 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  377 

CELIA  (to  CECIL).  Do  not  harm 

Yourself. 
CECIL  (to  CELIA).     One  harms  himself  the  most 

when  letting 
One  weaker  than  himself  be  harmed. — Hide 

here! 
(He   points    toward    a    window    curtain    at    the 

Rear.} 

Exit — behind  the  curtain — CELIA. 
MADAM  C.     (to  CECIL). 

You  do  not  know. — They  claim  her  as  a  slave. 
CECIL  (to  MADAM  C.).  I  save  her  as  a  woman. 
MADAM  C.  But  the  law — 

The  sentiment — the  spirit  of  the  State. — 
You  dare  not  shield  her. 

(Thunder  and  lightning.} 

CECIL.  Wherefore  dare  I  not  ? 

MADAM  C.     No  man  has  ever  yet  with  us  been 

left 

Not  ruined — left  alive — who  ventured  this. 
Your  influence,  your  position,  property, 
Your  life,  my  home,  my  hope  for  you, — all,  all, 
Would  all  be  forfeited. 

(Thunder  and  lightning.} 
CECIL.  Well,  let  them  go. 

When  they  have  stripped  me  of  all  things 

besides, 

I  shall  have  left  a  clean,  clear  conscience,  death 
And  heaven. 


CECIL  THE  SEER. 

MADAM  C.     You  madman ! 

CECIL.  Not  as  mad  as  you: 

I  wait  for  proof. 

MADAM  C.  And  if  they  prove  their  case? — 

CECIL.     I  wait  then  till  they  take  her.      But 
they  come. 

(Thunder  and  lightning.) 
Enter — Left  Front — KRAFT  with  two  men. 
KRAFT  (to  CECIL). 
Is  Celia  here? 
(advancing  toward  the  Left  Rear  Entrance.) 

I  say,  is  Celia  here? 

CECIL  (standing  in  front  of  the  Left  Rear  En 
trance — and  looking  around). 
I  do  not  see  her  here. 
KRAFT.  I  too  have  eyes. 

I  did  not  ask  that.     She  was  in  this  house. 
CECIL.     She  was  my  guest;  if  she  be  still  within 

She  still  then  is  my  guest. 
KRAFT.  I  am  her  guardian. 

CECIL.     And  so  am  I,  while  I  remain  her  host. 

(Thunder  and  lightning.) 
(CECIL  looks  at  the  men  behind  KRAFT.) 
You  seem  to  wish  to  guard  her  well, — too 

well. 

KRAFT.     I  do  and  shall — for  she  belongs  to  me. 
CECIL.     Well,  prove  your  case. 
KRAFT.  You  ask  for  proof  from  me, — 

A  gentleman  ? — 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  379 

CECIL.  I  ask  for  proof  from  you. 

KRAFT.     You  hint  I  am  no  gentleman? 
CECIL.  I  say 

You  are  not  gentle  in  your  present  mood; 
And  that  child  is — too  gentle  far  for  you. 
KRAFT.     What? — You  defy  me? — I  shall  search 
for  her. 

(Thunder  and  lightning). 
CECIL.     Not  till  you  get  by  me ! 
(CECIL  pulls  out  a  pistol.     MADAM  C.  seizes  it.) 
KRAFT.  And  that  we  shall ! 

(KRAFT  dashes  at  CECIL,  followed  by  his 
men.     A  pistol-shot  is  heard.     CECIL 
falls.     Violent  thunder  and  lightning.) 
Enter — Right  Rear — FREEMAN  with  two  detectives. 
FREEMAN.     Here !  seize  them !     Stop  the  villains, 

every  one ! 
Exeunt — Left  Front — KRAFT  and  men,  followed 

by  detectives. 

Enter — from   behind   the  curtain — CELIA, 
and  bends   over  CECIL,   excitedly  ex 
amining  into  his  condition. 
FREEMAN  (snatching  the  pistol  from  MADAM  C.). 
Aha,    you    are    the    murderer?    you?    eh? — 

you? 

MADAM  C.     I  did  not  fire  it. 
FREEMAN  (examining  the  pistol) . 

One  ball  gone!     Who  did?— 
Confess  it,  or  convict  your  lover,  Kraft. 


380  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

CELIA  (wringing  her  hands  over  CECIL'S  prostrate 

body] . 

Oh,  he  is  dead  for  me! — The  only  man 
I  ever  loved  is  dead  for  me,  for  me! 
(Thunder  and  lightning.) 

CURTAIN. 


ACT  SECOND. 

SCENE  FIRST: — A  sick  chamber.  At  the  Left, 
just  behind  the  Front  Entrance,  is  an  alcove. 
In  this,  visible  to  the  audience,  is  a  bed.  In  front 
of  the  bed  is  a  chair  and  a  small  table,  and  on  the 
latter  are  bottles  and  glasses.  On  the  bed  is  an 
effigy  of  CECIL  who  is  apparently  lying  there  in 
sensible.  Forming  the  back  curtain  of  the  stage  is 
a  representation  of  the  wall  of  an  ordinary 
bedroom. 

ENTRANCES:  by  doors  at  the  Right  and 
Left;  also,  farther  back  at  the  Left, 
connecting  with  the  space  behind  the 
bed  in  the  alcove. 

The  rising  curtain  reveals  a   PHYSICIAN 
sitting  in  the  chair  beside  the  bed,  and 
CELIA   just    entering    the    room,    or 
standing  near  him. 
CELIA  (to  PHYSICIAN). 

How  fortunate  for  Freeman  and  myself 
That  Kraft  and  Madam  Cecil  should  have  fled 
And  left  with  us  the  man  they  thought  was 

murdered ! 

Now   we   can   nurse   him,   as   he   should   be 
nursed. — 

381 


382  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

How  does  he  seem  this  morning? 
PHYSICIAN.  Very  low. 

CELIA.     Too  low,  you  think,  to  rally  and  recover  ? 
PHYSICIAN  (rising  from  the  chair  and  offering  it  to 

CELIA). 

No  man  could  tell — no  other  case  just  like  it. 
One  would  not  think  a  bullet  lodged  as  this 

one 

Enough  to  insulate  the  brain  entirely, 
Yet  not  a  nerve  will  act.     He  scarcely  seems 
To  see,  or  hear,  or  even  feel  one  touch  him. 
CELIA  (looking  at  CECIL). 

It  seems  like  death. 

PHYSICIAN.  Yes,  very  much  like  death. 

CELIA.     He  seems  to  think,  though. 
PHYSICIAN.  Yes;  for  he  is  living. 

CELIA.     In  states  like  this,  what  can  a  person 

think  of? 
PHYSICIAN.     Why,  he  may  dream  of  what  he 

did,  and  was, 

And  wished  he  was,  before  he  reached  them. 
CELIA.  So  ? 

PHYSICIAN.     There   could  be  nothing  else   for 

him  to  think  of. 

CELIA.  I  sometimes  hope  he  knows  that  I  am  by. 
PHYSICIAN  (rising  and  preparing  to  leave). 
Perhaps  he  does.     At  any  sign  of  it, 
A  word  might  make  him  conscious  of  your 
presence, 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  383 

And  keep  him  so.     They  say  that  things  more 

slight 

Than  flickering  flames,  attracting  conscious 
ness 

At  times,  if  they  but  set  the  nerves  to  thrilling, 
Wake  slumbering  senses  into  life  again. 
CELIA.     Why,  that  would  be  like  calling  back 

to  earth 

A  spirit  after  it  had  flown. 
PHYSICIAN.  It  would. 

CELIA.     You    think   it    could   be    done? — that 

human  tones, 
Though  he  might  not  conceive  what  thought 

was  uttered ; 
That  human  touches,  though  he   might   not 

know 
Just   who   it   was   that    held   him,    hand   in 

hand, — 
That  these  might  find  him  where  the  spirit 

dreams, 
And  comfort  him,  and  draw  him  here  once 

more? 

PHYSICIAN.     Who  knows? — Why  not? 
CELIA.  I  thank  you  for  the  thought. 

You  come  to-morrow? 
PHYSICIAN.  Yes,  good  day. 

CELIA.  Good  day. 

Exit — Right — PHYSICIAN.      CELIA    moves 
toward  the  door  with  the  PHYSICIAN. 


384  CECIL  THE  SEER.    - 

Then  she  returns  to  the  bed,  sits  in  the 
chair  beside  it,  and  apparently  takes 
CECIL'S  hand  in  her  own. 

SCENE  SECOND: — The  stage  is  darkened,  and  the 
curtain  forming  the  back  of  the  room  in  Scene 
First  rises,  leaving  everything  on  the  stage  in 
front  of  this  curtain  the  same  as  in  Scene  First. 
CELIA,  however,  no  longer  sits  by  the  bed  in  the 
alcove.  At  the  rear  of  the  stage,  is  an  extensive 
sylvan  landscape,  trees,  rocks,  mosses,  etc., 
backed  by  higher  rocks  and  distant  mountain 
scenery.  The  leaves  are  colored  as  in  autumn, 
and  the  sky  as  at  sunrise.  Backing,  near  the 
center  of  the  stage,  slightly  elevated  and  con 
taining  seats  overlooking  the  stage,  is  an  arbor. 
Some  of  the  stone  or  moss-covered  steps  leading 
up  to  this  can  be  used  as  seats.  Around  and 
behind  the  arbor  are  other  steps  leading  upward. 
Entrances,  used  in  this  scene:  Right  and  Left 
Rear;  and  at  the  Back,  behind  the  arbor,  and 
reached  by  passing  upward  either  through  it  or 
around  it. 

From  the  moment  that  the  stage  is  dark 
ened,  and  while  it  is  gradually  being 
illumined  again,  part  of  the  following 
is  chanted  by  a  choir,  either  invisible 
to  the  audience,  or,  clothed  in  white, 
and  half  seen  at  the  rear  of  the  stage: 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  385 

Oh,  who  has  known  the  whole  of  light, 

That  knows  it  day  by  day, 
Where  suns  that  make  the  morning  bright, 

At  evening,  pass  away? 
Before  the  day,  beyond  the  day, 

Above  the  suns  that  roll, 
There  was  a  light,  there  waits  a  light 

That  never  leaves  the  soul. 

Oh,  who  has  weighed  the  worth  of  light, 

That  gauged  it  by  the  gleam 
That  came  within  the  range  of  sight 

And  thought  the  rest  a  dream? 
Before  that  sight,  beyond  that  sight 

Unending  and  supreme 
There  was  a  light,  there  waits  a  light, 

Where  things  are  all  they  seem. 


Once  or  twice  toward  the  close  of  the  sing 
ing,  CECIL  who  is  now  in  the  bed  sits 
up,  in  a  bewildered  way,  passing  his 
hand  over  his  forehead.  A  s  the  singing 
ceases,  he  stands  on  the  floor,  leaving 
the  effigy  of  himself  lying  on  the  bed 
behind  him.  He  now  appears  clothed 
in  white.  As  he  begins  to  gaze  wonder- 
ingly  about  him, 

Enter — Left — an  idealized  form  of  CELIA, 
clothed   also   in   white.      CECIL   does 
not  see  her  till  after  she  has  spoken. 
CECIL.     Ah,  where  am  I? 

25 


CECIL  THE  SEER. 

CELIA.  With  me. 

CECIL  (looking  at  her  in  astonishment,  yet  shrink 
ing  from  her  as  if  in  awe) . 

And  who  are  you? 
CELIA.     Your  friend. 
CECIL  (drawing  nearer  her). 

My  friend? 

CELIA.  Do  I  seem  else? 

CECIL  (with  pleased  bewilderment).          Nay,  nay, 

You   seem   it  all:  you   seem  far  more  than 

this; 
Yet  where — when — was  it,  that  I  knew  you 

so? 
CELIA.     You  knew  me  so  ? — You  think  you  knew 

me,  then? 
CECIL.     Yes,  knew  you;  and  I  know  you;  yet 

seem  not 

To  know  where,  when  or  how  I  learned  of  you. 

(CECIL  gazes  around,   then,   looking  back 

at  the  bed  that  he  has  left,  he  suddenly 

starts  upon  seeing  there  the  effigy  of 

himself.) 

What?  what  ?— Is  that  my  body  ?— Am  I  dead? 
CELIA.     You  seem  to  be  alive. 
CECIL.  If  feeling  be 

The  test  of  life,  P  do  live.— And  yet  that— 
(returning    toward    the    bed   and   looking   at    the 

effigy-) 

That  is  my  body. 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  387 

CELIA  (meeting  him  as  he  turns  about,  and  point- 
ing  to  his  own  form) . 

Nay,  but  look  you  here. — 
What  then  is  this? 
CECIL  (placing  his  hand  on  his  chesf). 

This?— Oh,  so  light,  so  free, 
It  seems  an  essence  framed  of  flutterings, 
Ethereal  as  the  trillings  that  a  lark 
Leaves  up   in  heaven  when  it   has   left   for 

earth. — 

And  you  call  this  a  body? 
CELIA.  That  one  there, 

(pointing  toward  the  bed.} 
Holds  not  your  thought  ? 

CECIL.  Nay,  it  has  flown  to  you. 

CELIA.     And  wherefore,  think  you,  has  it  flown 

to  me? 

CECIL.     I  do  not  know.     I  half  believe  my  soul 
Has  all  my  life  been  flying  thus  to  you. 
[Why,  when  you  speak,  your  voice  the  echo 

seems 

Of  some  familiar  strain,  with  which  all  sounds 
That  ever  I  thought  sweet  were  in  accord. 
And  when  my  dimmed  eyes  dare  to  face  your 

own, 

Each  seems  a  sky  within  which  is  inframed 
A  world  that  holds  my  lifetime;  and  the  light 
Beams  like  a  sun  there,  scattering  doubt  and 
gloom.]  (looking  around.) 


388  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

But  what  a  world  you  live  in ! — Golden  skies  ? — 
Is  it  the  sunset  ? 

CELIA.  Nay;  you  see  no  sun. 

CECIL.     Is  it  the  Indian  Summer? 
CELIA.  Nay;  you  see 

The  air  is  far  too  clear. 
CECIL.  Is  there  a  breeze? — 

I  feel  it  fan  me. 

CELIA.  Yet  the  leaves  move  not. 

CECIL.     Why,  every  leaf   glows  fairer  than  a 

flower ! — 

It  must  be  autumn. 
CELIA  (plucking  a  leaf,  and  handing  it  to  him) . 

Nay;  these  leaves  are  fresh. 
CECIL.     I  think  I  dream: — all  things  appear  so 

strange ; 

Yet  doubt  I  dream : — they  all  appear  so  clear. 
CELIA  (sitting  on  one  of  the  lower  steps,  leading  up 

to  the  arbor) . 

Does  nothing  seem  familiar? 
CECIL  (sitting,  in  a  half  kneeling  position,  on  a 
step  beside  CELIA,  but  lower  than  the  one  that 
she  occupies,  and  gazing  up  reverentially 
toward  her). 

No — yet,  yes. 

[I  dimly  can  recall  what  now  appears 
A  troubled,  stormy  sea,  yet  not  a  sea; 
And  in  the  depth  that  which  I  call  myself 
Seemed  held  and  heaved  as  in  some  diving  bell. 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  389 

But  evermore  in  reveries  and  dreams, 

But    most    in    dreams    when   outward    sense 

would  sleep 

My  soul  would  be  released,  and  rise  and  reach 
Fresh  air,  in  which  was  breathed  what  gave 

fresh  life ; 
Then,    sinking    downward,    wake    and    work 

again, 

Till  time  for  rest  and  fresh  refreshment  came. 
But  never  could  my  powers  at  work  below 
Remember  aught  that  blest  them  when  above. 
CELIA.     And  now  you  dream  that  somehow  they 

came  here  ? 
CECIL.     Oh,   do  not  tell  me  that   I  now  but 

dream ! — 

Nay,  call  it  heaven  ? — Or  is  the  rest  of  sleep 
But  absence  from  the  body  while  we  draw 
New  drafts  of  life  from  that  which  gave  us 

life? 

CELIA.     What  do  you  think? 
CECIL.  I  do  not  think  at  all. 

I  only  know  I  would  that  I  were  Adam, 
And  you  were  Eve,  created  while  I  slept. 
Or  is  it  true  that  all  our  souls  create 
The  things  that  they  aspire  for? — And  are 

you, — 

You  whom  my  very  spirit  seems  to  clasp 
And  thrill  forever  at  each  tingling  touch, 
Are  you,  indeed,  the  form  of  my  ideal? 


39°  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

Oh  love,  you  seem  as  if  at  one  with  God; 
And  yet  I  never  thought  a  God  could  be 
So  dear,  (kneeling.) 

There  have  been  monks  in  ecstasy 
Who  saw — or  thought  they  saw — the  Virgin. 

I— 
I     could    not    credit    them.      But    now,    it 

seems 

CELIA.     You  think  that  I— 
CECIL.  I  know  not  what  you  are. 

I  only  know  my  soul  had  sought  for  you ; 
And  now  has  found  the  search  was  not  in  vain. 
Why,  and  how  is  it  that  I  know  so  well — 
How   have   you  told   me — what  you  are   to 

me? 

CELIA.     I  have  not  told  you  this;  and  He  alone 
Who  formed  the  spirit  knows  the  how  and 

why. 

CECIL.     Who  formed?— Why,  that  is  God.     I 
thought  me  dead. 

Yet  here,  I  see  not 

(gazing  around  and  upward.) 
CELIA.  You  had  hoped,  at  death, 

To  pass  to  Paradise,  and  be  at  rest. 
Move  on:     I  have  detained  you. 

(rising,  and  waving  him  off  with  a  gesture.) 
CECIL  (rising  anxiously) .  I  move  on  ? — 

And  you  stay  here? — I  cannot.     There  is  not 
The  littlest  finger  of  the  littlest  nerve 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  391 ' 

In  all  my  frame  here,   that  could  summon 

power 

To  move  where  you  moved  not. 
CELIA.  Ah,  then  your  will 

Is  mightier  than  you  deemed  it  ?     You  can  rise 
But  when  you  wish  to  rise?     The  haunts  of 

heaven 

Need  not  have  walls  to  keep  you  out  of  them  ? 
(seating  herself  on  a  step  higher  than  she  occupied 

before.} 
CECIL  (sitting  beside,  but  below  her). 

Keep  out  of  them? — Why,  your  sweet  form 

alone 

Has  brought  me  now  a  million,  million  times 
More  than  I  ever  dreamed  that  death  could 

bring  me. 

CELIA.     But  where  is  your  religion? 
CECIL.  All  was  love. — 

CELIA.     And  not  the  Christ — ? 
CECIL.  Why,  yes — that  which  he  was — 

For  which  he  died, — the  spirit  in  the  man, — 
In  me,  in  you. — Ah,  now  it  seems  as  if 
Each  face  I  loved  on  earth  but  imaged  yours ! — 
Why  is  it,  dear  one,  that  you  seem  to  be 
So  fully  all  things  that  they  all  could  be? 
And  what  love  is  it? — what,  the  halo  here 
That  seems  to  orb  you  in  the  sphere  of  God? 
CELIA.     Had  you  seen  more  of  that,  you  might 
find  out. 


392  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

CECIL.     I  would  I  could! 

CELIA  (rising,  as  does  also  CECIL). 

And  shall  I  help  you  to  it? 
CECIL.     I  knew  there  was  no  wish  within  my  soul 
That  would  not  find  an  echo  in  your  own. 
Where  shall  we  go  that  we  may  find — ?] 
CELIA  (pointing  toward  the  Right}.  You  see 

Those  coming? — Let  us  watch,  and  listen  to 
them. 
(They  enter  the  arbor,  where,  in  view  of  the 

audience,  they  overlook  the  stage. 
Enter — Right — LOWE  and  MADAM  LOWE 
in  gray  Quaker  costumes,  resembling 
in  most  regards  those  of  CECIL  and 
CELIA. 

(Blue-gray  light  illumines  the  stage.) 
CECIL  (to  CELIA). 

They  look  like  Lowe,  the  Quaker,  and  his  wife. 
LOWE  (to  MADAM  L.). 

I  feel  so  weary,  yet  we  wanted  rest. 
MADAM  L.  (to  LOWE). 

Did  I  not  walk  with  thee,  I  half  might  doubt 
The  leading  of  this  path. 
LOWE.  I  doubt  it  not, 

When    leading    thee. — Who    ever    saw    thee 

decked 

In  vain  attire? 

MADAM  L.         Or  thee  not  grave  and  gray? 
LOWE.     Or  heard  thee  romp? 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  393 

MADAM   L.  Or  thee  hilarious? 

LOWE.     Or  found  thee  once  the  toy  of  giddy 

fancy  ? 

MADAM   L.     Or  thee,   of  disconcerted  calcula 
tion? 
LOWE.     None  ever! — Yet  I  fear  this  path. — I 

thought 

I  heard — and  oh,  I  dared  then  listen  twice! — 
I  thought  I  heard  strange  singing — 
MADAM  L.     Birds? — I  thought 

I  saw — and  oh,  I  dared  then  look  there  twice ! — 
I  thought  I  saw  a  wicked,  grinning  ape. 
LOWE.     Hush,  hush!  Think  not  of  these  things. 

Nay,  but  think 
Of  things  that  God  hath  made. — I  wonder  if 

(becoming  shrewd.) 
The  holy  city  be  completely  built. 
MADAM  L.     They  might  give  thee  a  contract. 
LOWE.  Well,  they  might! 

[And  if  the  saints  be  not  all  Friends 

MADAM  L.  Sh — sh — • 

Not  that! — so  loud! — I  fear  me,  lest  we  doubt. 
LOWE.     To  doubt  is  charity,  where  to  believe 
Is  to  condemn.     Who  knows  but  we  could 

thrive 

Deprived  of  Friends — build  churches. 
MADAM   L.  Say  not  that. 

We  may  be  taken  down  yet,  where  they  use 
them. 


394  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

LOWE.     I  fear  me  some  may  use  them  here. 
For  look ! — 

(Part  of  the  stage  is  illuminated  with  red  light.) 

The  colors  on  the  leaves,  the  very  sky, 

Seem  sadly  gay. 
MADAM  L.  Oh,  do  not  look  at  them ! 

They  glow  to  tempt  the  lusting  of  the  eye.] 
LOWE.     Sh! — what   is   that?     Loud   noise   and 

music  too! 
(BLAVER  and  Miss  PRIMWOOD  are  heard  singing.) 

Oh,  up  and  spout,  and  down  and  shout, 
And  show  the  spirit  off  and  out. 

MADAM  L.     Oh,  there  may  be  a  fiend  here !     Let 

us  hide. 

Exeunt — Right — LOWE  and  MADAM  L.  hurriedly. 
Enter — Left — BLAVER    and    Miss    PRIM- 
WOOD  in  blue  clothes  resembling  those 
of  CECIL  and  CELIA.     The  stage  is 
illumined  with  dark  blue  light. 
CECIL  (to  CELIA). 

See! — Blaver  and  Miss  Primwood,  I  should 

say. 

BLAVER.     We  should  have  found  the  place  ere 
this;  or  heard 

The  blowing  of  the  trumpets,  or  the  shouts 

[Miss  P.     Of  all  the  elders,  yes. 

BLAVER.  We  soon  shall  reach 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  395 

The  place  "where  congregations  ne'er  break 

up."- 

Oh,  I  could  talk  forever! 
Miss  P.  So  could  I  !— 

Yet, — do  you  know? — if  I  were  not  with  you, 
I  half  should  tremble,  lest  my  feet  were  near 

The  silence  of  the 

BLAVER  (in  a  frightened  way). 

Do  not  speak  of  that ! 
Keep  talking. — Oh  too  true! — There  are  no 

shouts.] 

No  one  has  got  the  power  here. 
Miss  P.  It  may  be, 

They  all  have  got  it. 

BLAVER.  What  if  that  were  so?— 

Suppose  they  had. — Suppose  that  no  one  here 
Could  ever  find  a  spirit  to  reform — 
Not  one  to  preach  to, — how  could  saints  here 

know 

About  one's  gifts? 
[Miss  P.  (agitated). 

Yes,  yes;  but  keep  on  talking. 
To   be  with  one   who   talks  on,  makes  one 

sure 

The  silence  is  not  near. 

BLAVER.  Yes,  let  us  talk. 

Perhaps,  at  times,  to  change  a  tune  or  text, 
The  congregation  pauses;  and  may  hear, 
And  send  the  sexton  for  us.] 


396  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

Enter — Right — stealthily,     and    dodging     behind 

trees,  LOWE  and  MADAM  L. 
Miss  P.  (pointing  toward  the  Right). 

Who  are  they, 
So  still,  so  backward,  skulking  through  the 

shade  ? 
BLAVER.     So  backward  and  so  still! — Are  both 

bad  signs. 
[Miss    P.     Though   this   were    Paradise,    there 

might  be  here 
Another  serpent. 
BLAVER.  Or  those  like  him ! — Would 

Be  backward  too,  and  not  stand  up  for  aught. 
Miss  P.     Would  slip  away. 
BLAVER.  Be  still  in  doing  it.] 

Miss  P.  (clinging  to  BLAVER'S  arm). 

How  wise  that  I  did  learn  to  be  a  woman, 

And  cling  to  man !     Ah,  were  I  here  alone 

BLAVER.     Those   two   seem   slipping   just   like 

drunken  sneaks 

Evading  prohibition  laws. — I  have  it: 
Heaven  calls  me  to  my  mission.     See  them 

quail 

When  I  exhort  them !     What  is  more  religious 
[Than  ministering   discomfort?       Rile    folks 

up, 
Their  dregs  appear;  they  see  their  own  foul 

depths.] 
You  watch  them  now. — Hoho!  hoho!  hoho! 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  397 

(BLAVER  is  gesturing  toward  the  Right  Entrance.} 
Enter — Right — FATHER    HYCHER,    in    a 
long  red  cassock,  and  WIDOW  HYCHER, 
in  a  red  gown  resembling  a  cassock. 
The  stage  is  suddenly  illumined  with 
red  light. 
FATHER  H.  (to  BLAVER). 

Hold,  preaching  fiend!     How  dare  you  block 

my  path 

And  raise  that  impious  and  schismatic  shout? 
Down  on  your  knees. 

[(then  to  LOWE  and  MADAM  LOWE,  who  appear 
at  the  Left). 

Down  on  your  knees. 

MADAM  LOWE.  Vain  souls, 

Trained  on  the  earth  to  influence  men  through 

force, 
In  realms  where  spirits  have  not  forms  that 

force 

Can  harm,  must  find  their  occupation  gone.] 
Exeunt — Left — LOWE  and  MADAM  LOWE. 
CECIL  (to  CELIA,  as  he  looks  at  the  HYCHERS). 
Father  and  Widow  Hycher,  or  their  doubles! — 
[The  Quaker  dame  has  not  forgot  her  train 
ing. 

BLAVER  (to  Miss  P.,  looking  toward  MADAM  L.). 
Expected    to    surprise    her !  —  failed !  —  She 

knows 
The  devil  is  deformed,  and  so  wears  robes. 


39$  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

Miss  P.     They  both  wear  like  robes! — Are  for 

woman 'slights? 

And  think  the  woman's  best  is  in  her  gown? 
WIDOW  H.  (to  BLAVER,  pointing  to  FATHER  H.). 

He  bade  you  kneel. 
BLAVER  (to  WIDOW  H.).     Am  I  your  suitor? — 

No; 

Nor  his.     You  neither  suit  me. 
WIDOW  H.  (pointing  to  FATHER  H.).     It  is  time 

You  go  to 

BLAVER.  You  go  there  yourself.     Ay,  ay; 

Be  missionaries  for  me.     I  will  not 
Be  tempted  that  way  then. 

(to  Miss  P.)     How  strange  that  forms 
We  meet  in  Paradise  all  seem  to  garb 
Our  worst  aversions ! 
Miss    P.     (anxiously).     Yes,    but — oh — exhort 

them !] 
BLAVER  (to  FATHER  and  WIDOW  H.).  Hoho, 

hoho ! 

Who  rails  at  preaching  proves  his  need  of  it. 
[WIDOW  H.     I  feel  as  if  a  storm  were  near,  and 

yet 

Were  blowing  music  for  me. 
FATHER  H.  (to  WIDOW  H.).  Heard  in  heaven, 
Storms  blowing  from  the  mouth  of  hell  make 

music. 

BLAVER  (to  Miss  P.).     Their  colors!  they — they 
flag  the  foe  for  me. 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  399 

Are  red  as  fire — are  fire,  perhaps;  if  so, 
Need  stirring  up,  and  showing — blowing  up 
And  out.     Hoho,  hoho !] 
(The  HYCHERS  disappear  behind  a  rock.) 

Why,  they  seem  gone? — 
Skulked  off? — We  might   have  known   they 

would.     Come  follow. 
You  sing,  and  I  will  shout. 

(moves  toward  the  Right). 
Miss  P.  Not  that  way,  no  I 

(Both  turn  to  the  Left). 
BLAVER  and  Miss  P.  (together). 

Hoho!  hoho!  hoho!  hoho! 

We've  all  things  here  you  need  to  know. 

Exeunt — Left — BLAVER  and  Miss  PRIMWOOD. 
(Reappear  at  the  Right,   FATHER  HYCHER  and 

WIDOW  HYCHER.) 
WIDOW   H.     If   I   were  not  with   you,    I   half 

might  fear 

That  we  had  wholly  missed  the  narrow  path, 
But  with  my  shepherd  near  me,  all  is  well. 
[FATHER  H.  How  strange  that  I  have  found  not 

yet  a  flock, 

Nor  sheepfold,  not  a  single  hedge,  forsooth, 
In  which  to  drive  a  single  soul ! 
WIDOW  H.  Like  that— 

Where   all    were   kept    so    safe — no    schism 
there ! — 


4°°  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

The  walls    were    always    echoing    back    the 

words 

You  spoke;  and  no  one  else  was  let  to  speak. 
FATHER  H.     All  heard  what  they  believed. 
WIDOW  H.  Could  they  do  else 

Than    to    believe    what    they    were    always 

hearing  ?— 
Dear  words,  how  we  must  thank  them  for  our 

faith! 
FATHER  H.     Without  our  words  men  might  be 

left  with  nature. 
WIDOW   H.     Just   think   of  that! — And  where 

would  nature  bear  them? 
FATHER  H.     Off  from  the  church,  I  fear. 
WIDOW  H.  Yes,  yes,  and  off— 

Off  from  the  priest. 

FATHER  H.  From  God,  as  well? 

WIDOW  H.  I  fear— 

For  He  is  so  unnatural. 
FATHER  H.  You  mean 

Is  supernatural. 
WIDOW  H.  Mysterious!— 

Creates  our  reason,  yet  condemns  its  use. 
I  never  used  my  reason — did  not  dare. 
FATHER  H.     You  were  a  modest,  model  woman, 

yes. 
WIDOW  H.     And  you  a  model  man — no   monk 

with  me ; 
Yet  ever  showed  the  world  a  pious  face. 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  401 

FATHER  H.     I  did.     They  lied  who  said  I  did 

not  care 

For  truth.     How  oft,  for  it,  I  held  my  tongue! 
WIDOW  H.     And  so  held  on  to  truth — 
FATHER  H.  And  kept  it  sacred. 

WIDOW  H.     And  easy  too  for  us,  who  need  not 

find  it. 

For  my  part,  I  would  rather  have  no  truth 
Than  risk  damnation,  planning  how  to  use  it. 
How  kind  the  priest  to  do  our  thinking  for 

us, 
And  make  us,   through  not  thinking,   think 

just  right ! 
FATHER   H.     But   you   did   thinking — when    I 

thought — 

WIDOW  H.  Of  course, 

When  you  thought  for  me. — Is  that  what  you 

mean? 
And  now,  and  here,  too,  you  will  think  for 

me? 

FATHER  H.     Could  I  do  else?] 
WIDOW  H.         And  when  we  reach  the  gates, 
You  promise  not  to  leave  me;  for,  you  know, 
I  never  learned  the  language  of  the  spirit ; 
And  might  not  know  it,  were  not  you  beside 
me. 

FATHER  H.     I — yes — but  if 

WIDOW   H.  There  was  no  if  in  what 

You  used  to  say. 
26 


402  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

Exeunt — Left — FATHER    HYCHER    and    WIDOW 

HYCHER. 

(The  red  light  changes  to  golden,  and  CECIL 
and  CELIA  come  out  from  the  arbor, 
and,  while  speaking,  gradually  descend 
to  the  stage.) 

CECIL.  They  did  not  see  us. 

CELIA.  No, 

For  they  did  not  look  up. 

CECIL.  I  know,  but  why? — 

Where  all  things  round  them  were  so  new  and 

strange  ? 
CELIA.     The  spirit  is  the  slave  of  its  desire. 

They  did  not  care  to  look  above  themselves. 
[CECIL.     Pray  tell  me  who  they  were.      They 

seemed  so  near, 

And  yet  so  many  million  miles  away. 
They  looked  like  people,  too,  whom  once  I 

knew; 

Yet  moved  like  cuckoos  jointed  on  a  clock, 
Accenting  nothing  they  have  thought  them 
selves, 

Or  have  the  force  to  make  another  think. 
CELIA.     They  seemed  as  if  lost  souls. 
CECIL  (startled).  Lost  souls,  you  say? 

CELIA.     Did  you  not  note  them — how  they  wan 
dered  on; 

Nor  knew  their  destination? 
CECIL.  Heaven  forbid! 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  403 

CELIA.     Why  pray  for  this? — You  think  that 
force  rules  here, — 

That  spirits  are  not  free  to  wander  where 

Their  own  ideals  bear  them? 
CECIL.  Those  they  formed 

On  earth,  you  mean? 

CELIA.  Where  else  could  they  be  formed? 

CECIL.     And  whither,  think  you,  will  ideals  bear 

Those  whom  we  just  have  seen? 
CELIA.  Where  would  you  deem 

These  could  be  realized — save  on  the  earth  ? 
CECIL.     But  some  of  them  seemed  looking  for 

their  Christ. 

CELIA.     I  fear  those  looking  but  for  their  own 
Christ 

May  sometimes  fail  to  find  the  Christ  of  God. 
CECIL.     But  will  they  never  find  Him? 
CELIA.  Do  you  think 

That  those  in  search  for  but  a  false  ideal, 

Could  recognize  Him,  even  should  they  find 

Him? 
CECIL.     Is  not  the  Christ  of  God  in  all  the 

churches  ? 

CELIA.     Is  He  not  preached  through  men? 
CECIL.  And  are  not  men 

Controlled  ? — inspired  ? 
CELIA.  And,  if  so,  from  what  source? 

Are  there  no  spirits  in  the  line  between 

Divinity  and  man? — And  what  of  man, — 


404  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

This  urn   of  earth  in  which   the  true  seed 
falls?— 

There  was  an  Arab  in  Mohammed's  time; 

In  Joan  of  Arc's  there  was  a  maid  of  France. 
CECIL.     But  would  you  grant  their  claim? 
CELIA.  Some  keen  as  you 

Believed  it  true.     And  is  it  charity 

To  deem  them  dupes? 
CECIL.  But  one  must  rate  them  thus, 

Or  call  upon  their  prophets. 
CELIA.  Think  you  so? 

One    hears   of   gypsies    telling    what    comes 
true. 

Does  this  truth  prove  them  seers  of  all  the 
truth? 

Believe  not  every  spirit;  prove 

CECIL.  But  how? 

CELIA.     How  but  by  what  is  told,  and  character 

Of  him  who  tells  it?     To  the  true  soul,  truth 

Appeals  to  taste,  as  beauty  to  the  sense; 

Its  test  is  quality.     The  like  comes  from  like. 

Their  inspiration  is  the  nearest  God's 

Whose  life  and  love  seem  nearest  Him. 
CECIL.  May  those 

Not  near  Him  be  inspired  too? 
CELIA.  Why  may  not 

Some  lower  phase  of  spirit-power,  earth-  borne 

To  live  for  matter  only,  still  intent 

To  live  for  matter,  take  abode  in  them, 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  405 

And  work  its  will  upon  their  willing  souls? 
Why    differs   it,   though    they   may   rise   on 

earth 

Impelled  through  emulation  to  enforce 
Their  wills  on  others;  or,  through  appetite 
May  fall,  and  yield  control  of  reason's  reins 
To  that  which  drives  them  on  to  lust  and 

crime  ? — 

A  spirit  that  inspires  through  selfishness 
To  mean  success  or  failure,  equally 
May  vex  as  by  a  devil  made  incarnate 
Oneself  and  all  about  him. 
CECIL.  Poor  weak  man ! 

CELIA.     Weak  ever — save  when  conscious  of  his 

need.] 
Enter — Left — FREEMAN  and  FAITH  dressed  like 

CECIL  and  CELIA. 
FREEMAN  (advancing,  speaking  to  the  two,  and 

pointing  toward  the  Back). 
Does  this  path  lead  us  upward? 
CELIA.  Yes,  it  does. 

FREEMAN    (looking  at  CECIL,   and  speaking  to 

him) . 
Why,  why,  friend,  is  this  you? 

(to  CELIA.)     And  Celia  too?— 
CELIA.     Your  friends,  at  least,  whoever  we  may 

be. 

(CECIL  and  CELIA  shake  hands  with  FREEMAN 
and  FAITH.) 


406  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

CECIL  (to  FREEMAN). 

And  Freeman — you  with  Faith? — I  join  your 

joy- 
Why,  it  fulfills  my  dream  for  you. 
FREEMAN.  And  mine ! 

(to  FAITH,  and  gesturing  toward  their  surround 
ings.) 
How  much,  with  each  new  step,  th'  horizon 

widens. 

[FAITH.     How  could  one  bide  below ! 
FREEMAN  (thoughtfully,  and  pointing  toward  the 
Left).  Ask  Father  Hycher. 

FAITH.    And  he — he  was  a  good  and  learned  man ! 
FREEMAN.     Less    good   than   learned,    darling. 

Your  pure  soul 

Breathed  such  an  atmosphere  about  itself, 
Your  very  presence  could  impart  an  air 
Of  sacredness  to  all  brought  near  to  you.] 
FAITH  (to  CELIA,  while  FREEMAN  turns  to  CECIL). 
So  strange  it  is  how  much  more  wise  and  wide 
His  views  are  here  than  seem  the  views  of 

those 
Who,  on  the  earth,  appear 'd  so  much  more 

learned. 

CELIA.     Not    strange! — Though    spirit-life    be 
lived  in  thought, 

Where  thought  pervades  the  atmosphere  like 

air, 
What  can  its  measure  be,  for  any  mind, 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  407 

Save  that  mind's  receptivity?     If  so, 

When  freed  from  bounds  conditioning  human 

thought, 

It  is  a  mind  not  filled  so  much  as  open, 
Where  waits  not  bigotry  but  charity, 
Although  with  little  learning,  that  first  thrills 
To  tides  that  flow  from  infinite  resources. 
FREEMAN  (who  has  turned  to  listen  to  the  latter 

part  of  what  she  has  been  saying) . 
Is  this  a  revelation? 
CELIA.  Ay,  to  those 

Who  heed  the  truth  behind  the  words  I  use; 
And  yet  for  those  who  heed  this  truth  them 
selves 

I  do  not  need  to  term  it  revelation. 
FREEMAN.     We  soon,   I  hope,   can  test  it  for 

ourselves. 

Farewell,  kind  friends,  until  we  meet  above. 
(FREEMAN  and  FAITH  shake  hands  with  CECIL 

and  CELIA.) 
CELIA.     Farewell. 
CECIL.  Farewell. 

(FREEMAN  and  FAITH  pass  upward  through,  or 
around  the  arbor,  till,  finally  they  disappear.) 
Exeunt — at  the  Back — FREEMAN  and  FAITH. 
CECIL  (looking  at  them  as  they  ascend). 
Oh  happy,  blessed  pair! 

(Part  of  the  following  is  then  chanted  by  the 
choir,  either  invisible,  or  visible  at  the 


CECIL  THE  SEER. 

rear  of  the  stage.  During  the  singing, 
CELIA  and  CECIL  gradually  ascend 
to  the  arbor  where  both  sit. 

Two  springs  of  life,— in  air  and  earth; 

Two  tides,— in  soul  and  sod; 
Two  natures,— wrought  of  breath  and  birth; 

Two  aims, — in  cloud  and  clod; — 
Oh,  where  were  worlds,  or  where  were  worth 

Without  the  two,  and  God? 

Two  movements  in  the  heaving  breast, 

Two,  in  the  beating  heart; 
Two,  in  the  swaying  soldier's  crest; 

Two,  in  the  strokes  of  art ; — 
Oh  where  in  aught  of  mortal  quest, 

Are  e'er  the  two  apart? 

Two  times  of  day, — in  gloom  and  glow; 

Two  realms— of  dream  and  deed; 
Two  seasons — bringing  sod  and  snow; 

Two  states — of  fleshed  and  freed; — 
Oh  where  is  it  that  life  would  go, 

But  through  the  two  they  lead? 

Two  frames  that  meet,— the  strong,  the  fair, 

True  love  in  both  begun ; 
Two  souls  that  form  a  single  pair; 

Two  courses  both  have  run; — 
Oh  where  is  life  in  earth  or  air, 

And  not  with  these  at  one? 

CECIL  (pointing  in  the  direction  taken  by  FREE 
MAN  and  FAITH). 
And  now  they  rest? 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  409 

CELIA.  Why  not?     What  now  remains 

Of  an  ideal  to  bear  them  back  to  earth? — 
Or  what  to  learn  from  mortals? 
CECIL.  Learn  from  mortals? 

[Can  mortals  aid  immortals? 
CELIA.  Life  is  one. 

Our    daily    deeds    bring    sweeter    dreams    at 

night; 
And  sweeter  dreams  more  strength  for  daily 

deeds. 
If  thought  may  pass  from  sphere  to  sphere, 

why  net 

The  benefit  of  thought? 

CECIL.  Why,  this  were  strange! 

CELIA.     If  strangeness  were  a  test  of  what  is 

false, 
Most  things  that  are  believed  would  not  be 

true. 
CECIL.     But  high  and  heavenly  spirits  helped  by 

human  ?] 
CELIA.     Why  should  not  all  in  heaven  or  earth 

be  helped 

By  all  with  whom  in  spirit  they  are  one? 
[Were  you  on  earth,  the  while  your  soul  aspired, 
Could  mine  not  move  up  with  you  ?     What  you 

learned, 

Could  it  not  ever  be  a  part  of  me  ? 
CECIL.     Why,  this  is  that  for  which  I  so  have 
longed ! 


410  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

And  once  with  one  I  thought  that  I  had  found 

it. 

Ah,  can  it  be  the  halo  crowning  her, 
Was  your  sweet  face  behind  the  face  I  saw  ? — 
Yet — were  it  right  to  turn  from  her  to  you? 
CELIA.     All  ties  are  right  that  make  true  life 

more  bright. 
Think  you  that  she  had  not  her  own  ideal? 

(gesturing  toward  the  Right.) 
And  were  her  soul  but  free  to  pass  to  it, 
Do  you  imagine  she  would  pass  to  you?] 
CECIL  (looking  toward  the  Right). 

My  wife  with  Kraft? — How  can  it  be? — and 

yet- 

(The  stage  is  suddenly  illumined  with  brown  light.) 

Enter — Right — KRAFT  and  MADAM  CECIL, 

dressed  in  dark  brown  clothes,  shaped 

like  those  of  CECIL  and  CELIA. 

MADAM  CECIL  (to  KRAFT)  .     It  matters  not  what 

we  have  done.     Have  faith. 
KRAFT  (to  MADAM  CECIL  with  suppressed  fear). 
But  should  I  meet  my  wife  whose  will  I  broke, 

Whose  slaves  were  not  set  free 

MADAM    C.  Have  faith,  have  faith! 

KRAFT.     Or  should  we  two  meet  Cecil — 
[MADAM  C.  (in  abject  fear).  Oh,  oh,  oh, 

Speak  not  of  that !   It  all  is  paid.     Have  faith. 
KRAFT  ( doubtingly) . 

Yet  some  would  talk  of  proving  faith  by  works. 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  411 

MADAM  C.     I  joined  the  church  when  scarcely 

sweet  sixteen, 

And  never  danced,  except  away  from  home. 
KRAFT.     And  I,  when  I  was  twenty;  and  I  never 

Let  people  see  me  backslide. 
MADAM  C.  And  I  always 

Professed  to  take  an  interest  in  the  meetings. 
KRAFT.     And  how  men  praised  me  for  my  church- 
subscriptions, 
And  for  my  faith  that  God  would,  someway, 

pay  them! 

MADAM  C.     Yes,  we  were  both  so  careful  to  seem 
right! 

KRAFT.     But  yet,  should  we  meet  Cecil ] 

MADAM  C.  (shuddering).     Oh,  oh,  oh, 
Not  him!  not  him! 

(recovering  herself  suddenly.) 

He  never  can  come  here. 
KRAFT  (eagerly). 

You  think  so — eh? — Why  not? 
MADAM  C.  (sententiously) .     He  lost  his  faith. 
KRAFT  (with  cringing  hope). 

Is  that  so?— Yes?— but  how? 
MADAM  C.  Why,  just  because 

Our  pastor  said,  one  time,  of  slavery, 
The  institution  was  divine,  God's  own, 
He  never  after  set  foot  in  that  church. 
[KRAFT  (with  self-congratulatory  delight). 
Oh.  is  that  so ! 


412  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

MADAM  C.  Besides,  he  sometimes  owned 

To  other 

KRAFT.  Other  what  ? 

MADAM  C.  Misgivings. 

KRAFT  (with  assumed  horror}.  Not 

Believe  in  things  men  preached? 
MADAM    C.    (sanctimoniously).       He    doubted 

them. 
KRAFT  (decisively). 

Then  he  did  not  have  faith. 
MADAM  C.  No;  he  did  not. 

KRAFT.     I  learned  the  catechism  in  my  youth; 
And  always  said,   when  asked,  that  it  was 

true. 
MADAM  C.     Thank  God  for  that!     He  was  not 

trained  as  you  were. 
KRAFT.  You  know  I  would  not-  let  an  ignorant 

man, 

A  slave  or  poor  white,  meet  me  in  my  parlor. 
MADAM  C.     No;  never! 

KRAFT.  When  a  man  is  ignorant 

About  the  doctrines — doubts  them, — how  can 

he 

Expect  that  God  will  welcome  him? 
MADAM  C.  Just  so! 

We  never  have  a  God  we  understand 
Until  we  learn  to  judge  Him  by  ourselves.] 

(CELIA,  beckoning  to  CECIL  who  follows 
her,  comes  from  the  arbor,  and  moves 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  413 

toward  KRAFT  and  MADAM  C.,  who, 
being  at  the  front  of  the  stage  facing 
the  audience,  do  not  see  them.) 
KRAFT  (in  self-congratulatory  way). 

Your  husband  then  had  really  lost  his  faith? 
I  wonder  if  my  wife  had  not  lost  hers. 
MADAM  C.     Did  she  not  free  her  slaves? — Our 

pastor  said 

The  institution  was  divine. 
KRAFT  (deliberatingly).  Yes,  yes. 

MADAM  C.     She  did  not  think  it  so. 
KRAFT.  But  I  did,  I,— 

I  broke  her  will. 

MADAM  C.  And  saved  her. — 

KRAFT.  What? — Oh,   yes! — 

Saved  her  from  the  results 

CELIA  (to  KRAFT  and  MADAM  C.,  as  she  points 
to  CECIL)  .  What  sophistry 

Is  this? 

MADAM  C.  (falling  on  her  knees  before  CECIL,  in 
abject  fear). 

Oh,  Master,  did  I  not  have  faith? 
KRAFT  (also  falling  on  his  knees  before  CECIL). 

Did  I  not  often  say  "Good  Lord"  in  prayer? 
[MADAM  C.     Did  I  not  bear  my  cross? — 
KRAFT.  A  diamond  cross 

I  gave  her? — 

MADAM  C.  I  embroidered  one.     I  showed 

My  faith  by  works. 


4  H  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

KRAFT.  I,  in  my  business, — 

Oh,  how  my  slaves  would  work  at  those  church 

fairs!] 
CECIL  (to  CELIA). 

Are  they  insane? 
CELIA.  In  part. 

CECIL.  Heard  you  the  name 

They  called  us? 
CELIA.  His  who  said  that  "Inasmuch 

As  ye  have  done  it  to  the  least  of  these, 

My  brethren,  ye,  have  done  it  unto  Me." 
MADAM  C.     Oh,  Master,  wherefore  are  we  here? 
CECIL  (to  CELIA).  Where  do 

They  think  themselves? 
CELIA.  Where  false  and  hellish  moods 

Create  a  false  and  hellish  world  to  live  in. 
CECIL  (to  KRAFT  and  MADAM  C.). 

What  seems  the  trouble  ?  What  is  it  you  fear  ? 
KRAFT.     Oh,  Master! 
MADAMC.  Master! 

[CECIL  Why  do  you  say  that  ? 

MADAM  C.     You  are  so  holy,  and  we  are  so  base. 
KRAFT.     Oh,  wherefore  did  I  kill  you? 
MADAM  C.  Wherefore,  oh, 

Oh,  wherefore  did  I  load  you  with  abuse? — 

I  did  not  know  you  then. 
CECIL.  Nor  know  me  now. 

Am  I  your  master? 
KRAFT.  It  was  you  we  harmed. 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  415 

CECIL.     What  would  you  that  I  do  for  you? 
MADAM   C.  Oh  let 

Us  pay  it  back. 

KRAFT.  Yes,  let  us  pay  it  back. 

CELIA.     Pay   what   back?     What? — You   said, 
"It  all  is  paid. 

Have  faith."     Your  faith  means  faith  that 
God  forgives. 

If  he  forgive  you,  why  not  feel  forgiven? 
MADAM  C.     You  mock  us. 
KRAFT.  Mock  us.] 

CECIL  (to  CELIA).  Tell  me  what  to  say. 

And  is  there  nothing  one  can  do  for  them 

To  free  them  from  their  misery? 
CELIA.  They  say 

There  is,  and  truly.     Though  the  Lord  for 
give, 

In  spirit  how  can  spirits  feel  forgiven 

Ere  they  undo  the  wrong  their  lives  have 
wrought  ? 

Ere  this  had  been  undone,  not  even  laws 

Of  Moses  let  the  trespasser  receive 

The  benefit  of  sacrifice;  and  how 

Could  heavenly  joys  crown  even  perfect  love 

Save  as  it  served  the  soul  it  once  had  harmed  ? 
CECIL  (to  MADAM  C.  and  KRAFT). 

What  is  it,  then,  that  you  would  do  for  me? 
KRAFT.     What  you  had  done,  had  we  not  stayed 
your  work. 


4l6  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

CECIL  (to  CELIA). 

What? — Is  it  possible? — my  plans,  my  hopes 
Can  be   fulfilled   yet?   and  fulfilled  through 
these?— 

(to  KRAFT  and  MADAM  C.) 
Well,  it  may  be  so.    You  may  serve  your  time. 
[MADAM   C.     Ah,    now   I   know,   indeed,    that 

Heaven  is  true ! 
KRAFT.     And  now   I   know,  indeed,  the   Lord 

forgives !] 

CELIA.     But  prove  your  faith  by  your  fidelity. 
(CELIA  points  toward  the  Right  Rear  En 
trance.     As  she  does  so,  Enter — Right 
Rear — JEM  and  MILLY.    Their  dresses 
are  of  a  grayer  shade,  but  otherwise  they 
resemble  those  of  CECIL  and  CELIA. 
As    KRAFT    and    MADAM    C.    turn 
toward  the  Right,  they  see  JEM  and 
MILLY,  and  draw  back  affrighted.} 
MADAM  C.     See  those  grim  messengers  of  tor 
ture  coming! 
CECIL  (to  CELIA). 

Why,  those  are  Jem  and  Milly,  our  old  slaves! 
She  tried  to  thwart  me,  when  I  set  them  free. 
CELIA.     She  thinks  them  fiends. 
CECIL.  How  blind !     Their  dusky  hues 

To  me  seem  fair-formed  shadows  cast  before 
The  light  of  coming  angels. 

(CELIA  and  CECIL,  at  her  apparent  bidding, 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  41? 

seat  themselves  again  on  some  of  the 
steps  leading  up  to  the  arbor,  and  from 
there  listen  to  the  following.} 
MADAM  C.  (to  JEM  and  MILLY,  kneeling  before 
them) .  Spare  my  soul ! 

JEM.     A  little  thing  ter  spare! — I  'spects  I  will. 
MADAM  C.     You  will  not  drive  me  off  to  tor 
ment  then  ? 

JEM.  Come,  come,  ole  missus,  yer  mixed  up  on  dis. 
De  debil  not  so  black  as  he  am  painted. 
He's  white, — a  missus  too !      When  yer  gets 

dah  (pointing  down), 
Jes'  take  one  look  in  dat  ah  lake.     You'll  see 

'im. 

MADAM  C.     Oh,  oh,  then  you  have  seen  him? 
JEM.  Wall,  I's  been 

Dun  gone  down  da  below, — a  slave,  yer  see. 
But  now,  I's  heah. 

MADAM  C.  And  I  must  be  your  slave? 

JEM.     No;  we's  not  mean  enough  ter  own  no 

slaves,     (gesturing  toward  MILLY.) 
MADAM   C.     You  would  not   drive  us  to  the 

darkness  ? 

JEM.  No 

We's  come  away  from  dah,  or  'spected  so 

Till  we  met (he  looks  at  her  sharply.) 

MADAM  C.         Who?     Oh,  take  me  not 

JEM.  Fur  'im?— 

Law  sakes  alive !     Yer  kneelin' ! 
27 


4l8  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

MADAM  C.  I  will  serve 

For  all  my  life 

JEM.  DC  debil? — better  not! 

QEM  and  MILLY  turn  to  leave  at  the  Right  Rear 

Entrance.) 
MADAM  C.     I  must  pay  back  the  service  forced 

from  you. 

You  will  not,  cannot,  must  not  cast  me  off. 
JEM  (turning  around  toward  her). 

Dem  folks  dat's  free  perfers  ter  choose  deir 

help. 

Exeunt — Right  Rear — JEM  and  MILLY,  hurriedly. 
MADAM   C.    (to   KRAFT  who  seems  to  desire  to 

linger) . 
Oh,  we  must  overtake  them! 

(She  pulls  KRAFT  after  her.) 
Exeunt — Right  Rear — MADAM   C.   and   KRAFT. 
(As  they  leave,  the  stage  is  illumined  with  golden 

light.) 

CELIA  (looking  after  them).     Who  can  tell 
What  ages  it  may  take  to  overtake 
The    wrong    one's    own    wrong    lashes    into 

flight ! 

CECIL.     Where  are  they  going? 
CELIA.  Earthward,  so  it  seems. 

CECIL.     And  will  she  serve  her  slaves? 
CELIA.  Why  should  she  not? 

Why  should  not  those  who  were  the  most 
oppressed 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  419 

Have  most  that  serve  them  where  but  souls 

are  served? 

All  things  inverted  and  turned  inside  out, 
The  last  in  station  may  become  the  first, 
The  lowly  lordlike  and  the  high  the  low, 
The  crown'd  the  chain'd,  the  crucified  the 

crown'd. 
[CECIL.     But  how  and  where  can  spirits  right 

their  wrong  ? 

CELIA.     Wherever  spirits  influence  the  spirit. 
CECIL.     Ah,   then,   through  others'   lives  they 

work  their  work? 
CELIA.     Perchance  they  may;   perchance  they 

may  do  more. 
CECIL.     Do    more? — What    mean    you? — live 

again  on  earth? — 
Nay,  if  they  shall,  they  have  lived;  yet  who 

ever 

Met  mortal  yet  whose  memory  could  recall 
A  former  state? 

CELIA.  He  might  recall  the  state 

Without    the    circumstance.     To    know,    be 
speaks 

Experience.     To  be  born  with  intuitions 
And  insight,  is  to  know.     To  sun  new  growth 
Why  should  not  all  be  given  an  equal  chance 
Unshadow'd  by  dark  memories  of  the  past? 
CECIL.     But  if  the  past  were  bright  ? 
CELIA.  If  wholly  so, 


420  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

Would  one  need  progress?  or  could  he  be 

cursed 
With  deeper  woe  than  thought   that   could 

recall, 

Enslaved  in  flesh,  a  former  liberty? 
Why  lure  to  suicide,  that,  breaking  through 
The  lines  determining  development, 
May  plunge  the  essence  down  to  deeper  depths 
There  planted  till  new  growth  take  root  anew? 
CECIL.     Must  all  new  growth  be  planted  in  the 

earth? 
CELIA.     Is  any  germ  that  grows  not  planted 

there? 

CECIL.     What  trains  it  then? 
CELIA.  Some  say  that  where  it  falls 

In  age,  clime,  country,  family,  fleshly  form, 
The    mighty    wheels    of    matter — earth    and 

moon, 

And  sun  and  planets,  all  the  unseen  stars 
Of  all  the  universe  that  round  it  roll — 
With  one  unending  whirl  grind  out  its  fate; 
Yet  only  earthly  fate.     Flung  to  and  fro, 
And  torn  by  care  and  toil  and  pain  and  loss, 
The  spirit  knows  in  spirit  it  is  free; 
And  true  to  its  high  nature,  may  pass  through 
The  terror  of  the  ordeal  with  all 
The  finer  flour  of  nature's  grain  preserved. 
CECIL.     So  though  careers  be  fated,  souls  are 
free? 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  421 

CELIA.     The  consciousness  of    freedom   comes 

from  force 

Which  is  of  heaven;  the  consciousness  of  fate 
From  that  which  is  of  earth;  and  both  are 

true; 
Or  that  which  makes  all  feel  them  both  is 

false. 
CECIL.     But  if  some  spirits  thus  return  to  earth, 

Why  not  all  spirits  ? 

CELIA.  Who  has  traced  for  you 

The  history  of  spirits?     If  they  came 
From  God,  as  matter  came,  why  came  they 

not 

With  matter? 
CECIL.     What? — Through  beasts  and  birds,  you 

mean? 
CELIA.     Why  not  ? — Why  should  not  these  have 

endless  life  ? 
Why,  if  they  have  it,  should  their  course  be 

checked 

Ere  they  attain  the  highest? — and,  if  not, 
Why  should  their  essence  not  move  up  through 

man? 

CECIL.     Is  man  the  son  of  beasts  ? 
CELIA.  In  flesh  why  not  ? — 

But  may  be  born  of  flesh  and  of  the  Spirit. 
Devoid  of  spirit,  all  the  body's  nerves 
Are  lifeless  as  the  wires,  wThen  rent  apart, 
Which  once  were  thrilling  with  electric  force. 


422  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

But  ah !  that  force,  though  flown  to  air,  comes 

back 

To  give  new  life  wherever  new  forms  fit  it. 
So,  while  the  whole  creation  of  the  flesh, 
In  groans  and  travails  of  successive  births, 
Prepares  each  new  formation  for  its  need, 
Why  should  not  psychic  force,  the  breath  of 

Him 
In  whom  all  live  and  move  and  have  their 

being, 

With  rhythm  mightier  than  the  pulse  of  lungs, 
Or  day  and  night,  or  autumn  and  the  spring, 
Pass  up  through  all  the  lower  ranks  of  life, 
Through  birth  and  on  through  death,  from  air 

to  breath, 

From  breath  to  air,  till,  last,  it  reaches  man; 
And,  taught  the  lesson  there  of  human  hands 
Which  master  matter,  and  of  each  man  make 
A  fellow-worker  in  creation's  work, 
And,  taught  the  lesson  of  the  human  voice, 
Which  for  each  new  conception  frames  a  word 
To  phase  and  phrase  it,   and  of  each  man 

makes 

A  fellow-thinker  in  creation's  thought,— 
Why  should  not  this  force,  moulded  by  the 

hand 

And  head,  attain  in  man  its  final  end, 
And  dowered  with  will  and  reason,  freed  at 

death 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  423 

From  its  material  framework,  hold  its  mould, 

And  reach  the  last  result  of  all  that  is, 

Where  that  which  served  the  serpent  is  the 
son, — 

A  spirit  in  the  image  of  the  Father? 
CECIL.     These  words  recall  an  ancient  eastern 
dream ; 

And,  in  one's  waking  hours,  can  it  be  true? 
CELIA.     Think  you  a  true  soul  ever  served  a 
thought 

Not  souled  in  truth,  whatever  were  its  form? 
CECIL.     But  what  then  of  the  Christ? 
CELIA.  Did  he  not  say 

He  lived  in  spirit  ere  he  lived  on  earth  ? — 
CECIL.     He  said  he  came  for  others. 
CELIA.  Do  you  think 

A  spirit  such  as  his  would  need  to  come 

For  his  own  good? 

CECIL.  And  yet  that  sacrifice? — 

CELIA.     He  sacrificed  the  spirit-life  for  life 

On  earth,  and  life  on  earth  for  spirit-life. 
CECIL.     And  but  fulfilled  a  common  role  ? 
CELIA.  Not  common, 

Did  he  fulfill  our  spirit's  best  ideal; 

For  spirits  live  in  thought.     How  can  they 
know 

Of  any  God  beyond  their  thought  of  him? 
CECIL.     But  if  they  know  the  Son? 
CELIA.  They  know,  at  best, 


424  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

A  "Son  of  Man, "  as  well,  too,  as  "of  God,"— 
In  spirit  one  with  Him,  but  not  in  frame. 
CECIL.     And  yet  a  "Saviour" — 
CELIA.  What  inspires,  but  spirit? — 

Or  saves,  but  inspiration?     He — enough — 
All  must  move  upward  would  they  find  the 

Christ,     (rising  and  pointing  upward.} 
CECIL  (rising) . 

But  ought  they  not  to  work  for  others  too? 
CELIA.     In  spirit  those  work  most  for  truth,  who 

most 

Are  true;  for  all  are  led,  yet  all  are  leaders. 
Thus  does  the  line  of  being  bridge  the  gulf 
Between  the  world  of  worm  and  fire, — the 

hell 

As  well  as  home  of  all  not  saved  from  matter — 
And  that  eternal  rest  where  souls,  made  free 
From  longer  craving  a  material  frame 
Through  which  to  signal  their  vain  selfhood, 

lose 

Their  lower  life  to  find  a  higher  life, 
Where  now  their  spirits  are  at  one  with  His 
Whose  life   of  love  is   theirs   who  love   his 

life; 

And,  even  as  the  Christ  is  in  the  Father, 
So,  too,  become  joint  heirs  with  Him  of  all 

things. 

(CELIA   and   CECIL   move   upward,   and  finally 
disappear.}} 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  425 

Exeunt — at  the  Back — CELIA  and  CECIL. 

In  the  meantime,  part  of  the  following 
is  chanted  by  a  choir,  either  invisible 
or  visible  at  the  rear  of  the  stage. 

In  the  world  of  care  and  sorrow 

Cloud  and  darkness  veil  the  way, 
But  in  heaven  there  waits  a  morrow 

Where  the  night  will  turn  to  day, 
Where  the  spirit-light  in  rising, 

Yet  will  gild  the  clouds  of  fear, 
And  the  shadows,  long  disguising, 

Lift  and  leave  the  landscape  clear. 

When  the  soul,  amid  that  glory, 

Finds  its  earthly  garments  fall, 
Harm  and  anguish  end  their  story, 

Health  and  beauty  come  to  all; 
No  more  fleshly  chains  can  fetter 

Faith  that  longs  to  soar  above ; 
None  to  duty  seems  a  debtor, 

And  the  only  law  is  love. 

There  is  ended  earthly  scheming, 

Earthly  struggle  sinks  to  sleep; 
Souls  have  passed  from  deed  to  dreaming, 

And  they  have  no  watch  to  keep ; 
For  the  world  has  wrought  its  mission, 

And  the  wheels  of  labor  rest ; 
And  the  faithful  find  fruition, 

And  the  true  become  the  blest. 

(The  stage  is  darkened;  and  the  curtain  that 
formed  the  back  of  Scene  First  in  this 
Act  falls  upon  it.) 


426  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

SCENE  THIRD: — Same  as  Scene  First  of  this  Act. 
While  the  stage  is  still  dark,  unseen  by  the 
audience, 

Enter  —  Left  —  CECIL,  in  dressing-gown 
covering  completely  the  dress  worn 
by  him  in  the  last  scene.  He  reclines 
on  the  bed,  where  his  effigy  was  in  the 
First  Scene  of  this  Act. 

(The  stage  is  made  light.} 
Enter — Left — CELIA,  dressed  as  in  Scene 
First  of  this  Act.  In  addition,  she 
brings  a  hat  and  shawl,  which,  as  she 
becomes  visible  to  audience,  she  is  seen 
putting  on. 

Enter — Right — JEM. 
CELIA  (to  JEM). 

The  time  has  come  to  take  my  morning  walk. 
I  almost  fear  to  leave  him.     You  will  stay 
While  I  am  gone,  and  keep  good  watch? 
JEM.  Yes,  Missus. 

Fo'  Gawd,  dey  done  dare  hahm  de  ole  Marse 

now. 

What  dey  would  hahm  would  be  de  udder 
pusson. 

Exit — Left — CELIA  . 

(After  waiting  a  moment,  JEM  opens  the  door  at 
the  Left,  looks  about,  closes  the  door,  then 
crosses  to  the  door  at  the  Right,  opens  it, 
looks  out,  and  speaks.) 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  427 

Now  yer's  all  safe,  suh.     She  'ab  gone  away. 

Enter — Right — KRAFT,  MADAM  CECIL  and 

two    MEN,    all    dressed    in    out-door 

costume.     All  of  them  except  KRAFT 

cross    the    stage    toward    the    couch. 

KRAFT  remains  behind,  and,  taking  a 

bank-note  from  his  pocket-book,  holds 

it  in  front  of  JEM'S  mouth. 

KRAFT    (to  JEM).     Will   this    patch   keep   that 

mouth  shut? 
JEM  (taking  the  money  and  pocketing  it.} 

Law  now,  Marse, 
And  pocket,  too,  suh. 
KRAFT.  You  are  wise,  my  man. 

(KRAFT  crosses  to  the  alcove  where  MADAM 

C.  and  the  two  MEN  have  been  looking 

at  CECIL.     He  looks  at  CECIL,  and 

speaks  to  them.) 

No    doubt !  —  You    see    the    man    is    living 

still. 

You  both  can  swear  to  that? 
FIRST  MAN.  Oh,  yes. 

SECOND  MAN.  Yes,  yes. 

KRAFT  (to  JEM). 

What  says  the  doctor,  Jem?     Will  he  recover? 
JEM.     I  'spec'  he  'spec's  it. 
KRAFT  (to  MADAM  CECIL).      We  are  safe,  at 

least. 
Has  lived  now  long  enough — for  that. 


428  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

MADAM  C.  Yet  I 

Could  almost  pray  to  know  that  he  was  dead ! 

CECIL   (in  bewilderment,  starting  suddenly,  and 

sitting  up  in  the  bed) . 
And  did  you  think  I  wanted  to  be  living? 

CURTAIN. 


ACT  THIRD. 

An  interval  of  two  year  is  supposed  to  elapse- 
between  the  occurrences  in  Acts  Second  and 
Third. 

SCENE  FIRST  : — A  room  in  the  house  of  FREEMAN, 
who  has  married  CELIA,  and  is  living  with  her 
in  a  Northern  "Border"  State.  Near  the  cen 
ter  of  the  room,  set  with  dishes  for  a  meal,  is  a 
table.  Bread  and  a  pitcher  of  milk  have  already 
been  placed  on  it.  Three  or  four  chairs  are  near 
the  table.  At  the  Left  is  a  closet,  and  about 
the  room  other  articles  of  furniture.  Backing,  a 
wall  containing  a  window  or  door;  also  a  mirror 
near  the  Left  Rear.  Entrances  by  doors  at  the 
Right  and  Left  near  the  Front. 

The  rising  curtain  reveals  JEM  with  overcoat  and 
hat  on,  standing  in  front  of  the  table,  also 
MILLY. 

JEM  (to  MILLY). 

De  station  am  a  mile  off.     What's  de  dahky 
Dat  wouldn't  get  hungry  'foah  he  got  dat  fah? 

(taking  bread  from  the  table  and  putting  it  into 

his  pocket.) 

429 


430  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

Dey  all  don't  want  to  see  'im  stahve;  not  dey ! 
An'  dry  up,  no ! 

(taking  up  the  milk-pitcher,  and  looking  at  it.) 
Why,   'sakes  alive!  dah's  marse — 
And  what's  he  call  me  calf  faw? 
(pouring  out,  evidently  against  MILLY'S  protests, 
a   tumbler  ~ful  of   milk,   drinking    it,  then 
hiding  the  tumbler  in  the  closet.) 

Dat  am  good. 

Dis  dahky's  glad  dat  ole  Marse  Cecil's  comin'. 
But  ole  Marse  Cecil, — wondeh  how  he'll  take 
To  seein'  his  Miss  Celia  Missus  Freeman. 
It  'peahed  as  how  he  liked  dat  ah  young  gal, 
An'  when  ole  Missus  Cecil  she  got  out 
An'  married  dat  Marse  Kraft,  why,  you  an' 

me, 

We  'spected  how  Marse  Cecil  'd  like  to  get 
As  fuh  de  oder  way  wid  his  Miss  Celia. — 
But  now  Marse  Freeman's  got  her,  got  her 

tight. 
Exit — Left — MILLY    who    has    evidently    heard 

someone  coming. 

Enter — Left — FREEMAN  and  CELIA. 
FREEMAN  (to  JEM). 

It's  time  to  go,  Jem. 
JEM.  Go? — I'sgoin', — gone! 

Exit — Right — JEM. 

CELIA   (arranging  the  dishes  on  the  table,   and 
suspiciously  examining  the  bread-plate  and 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  43! 

milk- pitcher ,  while  shaking  her  head  at  the 
departing  JEM). 
[Did  Faith  look  well?] 

FREEMAN  (seating  himself  in  one  of  the  chairs,  and 
taking  a  newspaper  from  his  pocket  and 
unfolding  it}.     [Much  as  she  did  of  old. 
But  paler — that  is,  till  she  chanced  on  me. 
CELIA.     And  then? 
FREEMAN.  She  flushed. 

CELIA.  It  needed  but  a  spark 

To  kindle  the  old  fire. 
FREEMAN.  In  her? — or  me? — 

I  saw  no  light.     I  only  thought  of  ashes. 
CELIA.     I  know  her  nun's  veil  seemed  a  shroud 

to  you. 

FREEMAN.     Your  white  one,  Celia,  when  I  mar 
ried  you, 
Seemed  like  an  angel's.     Now  that  you  have 

dropped  it, 
I  know  it  was. 
CELIA.  I  thank  you.     Yet,  at  times, 

I  fear  mere  pity  led  you  to  propose. 
FREEMAN.     Was  it  your  pity  led  you  to  accept? 
CELIA.    You  know  you  thought  that  I  had  closed 

the  door 

To  every  other  suitor  by  my  act 
In  closing  it  on  all  except  us  two 
When  we  were  nursing  Cecil. 
FREEMAN.  And  you  know 


432  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

You  thought  that  I  had  closed  the  door  on 

Faith, 

Because  of  that  which  Father  Hycher  said. 
But — nonsense ! — what  if  pity  were  a  motive  ? 
CELIA.     Pity  is  but  a  sadder  kind  of  love — 
FREEMAN.     No  love  at  all.     But  as  a  motive  to 

it— 

A  door  to  open, — why  complain  of  it, 
If  only  opening  where  we  wish  to  go? 
(CELIA,  having  ended  arranging  the  things  on  the 

table,  stands  back  looking  at  it}.] 
And  all  is  ready — is  it? — for  our  guest? 
CELIA.     To  think  that  Cecil  should  be  here,  and 

well! 
FREEMAN.     And  such  a  note  as  his  too !     Why,  a 

boy, 

A  boy  in  love,  could  not  more  gracefully 
Let  tumble  forth  from  his  embarrassed  lips 
The    whole    sweet    burden    of    his    blushing 

cheeks, 

Than  he  did,  pelting,  helter-skelter,  out 
Those  metaphors  at  us,  to  vent  his  joy 
In  welcoming  our  own4 

CELIA.  How  strange  he  felt  so! 

FREEMAN.     Strange? — I  am  worthy  of  you;  you 

of  me ; 

And  both  of  us  of  Cecil's  interest. 
He  knows  how  we  two  nursed  him.     Now,  at 
last, 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  433 

His  voyage  at  an  end,  his  health  restored, 
It  ought  to  give  him  joy,  and  pride  as  well, 
To  learn  how  we,  through  love  for  him,  at 

first, 

Have  come  to  love  each  other.     Every  soul 
Is  proudest  of  the  good  itself  has  fathered. 
CELIA.     I  know;  and  Cecil  has  a  heart  so  kind! 
But  I  must  go,  and  get  the  breakfast  ready. 
FREEMAN  (rising  and  taking  CELIA 's  hand). 
But,  first,  my  Celia,  let  me  break  my  fast. 

(kisses  her.) 
One  kiss  of  yours  could  make  the  thrilling 

lips 

Go  fluttering  all  day  long  like  Cupid's  wings 
To  bear  sweet  words  of  love  to  all  they  meet. 

Exit — Left — CELIA  . 
[(FREEMAN  apparently  addressing  the  reflection  of 

himself  in  the  mirror.) 
I  told  no  lie.     She  lights  my  life  with  joy. 
But,  oh,  had  she  been  Faith,  joy  had  been 

bliss!— 

Poor  Celia,  she  shall  never  learn  the  truth. 
She  thinks  my  nature  water.     I  did  once: 
As    each    new    face    looked    love    upon    its 

depths, 
I  thought  they  might  be  filled  with  that ;  but 

ah, 

My  heart  is  like  a  photographer's  glass 
Whereon  the  image  once  impressed  remains; 
28 


434  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

And  Celia's  face  is  always  framed  in  Faith's. 
I  fear  I  love  the  picture  for  the  frame. — ] 
Why,  Cecil  here  already? — must  be  he — 
Enter — Left — MILLY,     crossing    the    room    and 
opening  the  door  at  the  Right. 
Enter — Right — CECIL   followed    by    JEM. 
Both  wear  out-door  costumes,  CECIL 
an  overcoat.     He  also  carries  a  cane 
and  limps.     As  he  enters,  he  shakes 
hands  with  MILLY  and  with  FREEMAN. 
A  hearty  welcome,  friend !     I  saw  you  coming. 
How  well  you  look!     You  are  well  too,  not 

so? 
CECIL  (removing  his  hat,  which  JEM  takes). 

Oh,  yes. 
FREEMAN  (noticing  that  CECIL  limps). 

.Lame  yet? — 

CECIL.  Shall  always  be.     One  foot 

Was  caught  inside  the  grave.     I  pulled  away; 
But  drag  the  foot-stone. 
FREEMAN  (helping  CECIL  take  off  his  overcoat). 

Not  the  head-stone  though ! 
CECIL.     I  hope  not. 

FREEMAN  (handing  CECIL'S  overcoat  to  JEM,  who 
takes  it  in  addition  to  the  hat). 

Here,  Jem,  take  these  out  with  you. 
(FREEMAN  turns  to  get  a  chair  for  CECIL.) 
JEM  (aside  to  MILLY). 

I'd  like  to  see  what  ole  Marse  Cecil'll  do 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  435 

When  he  fine  out  Miss  Celia's  Missus  Free 
man. 

I  know,  from  what  he  say,  dat  he  don't  'spec 
so. 

Exit — Righ  t — JEM  . 
Exit— Left— MILLY. 
FREEMAN  (placing  a  chair  behind  CECIL). 

Sit  here,     (also  handing  CECIL  the  newspaper). 
CECIL  (sitting  in  the  chair  and  looking  around  the 
room). 

I  thank  you. — What  a  pleasant  home! 

And  have  you  heard,  of  late,  about  my  wife? 

FREEMAN.     You    knew    she    married     Kraft? 

How  mean  in  her ! 
CECIL.     Oh,  no;  not  that! 
FREEMAN  (sitting) .     But  getting  her  divorce — 

Accusing  you ! 
CECIL.  Kraft  managed  it,  of  course. 

I  had  deserted  her. 

FREEMAN.  You  could  not  help  it. 

CECIL.     No;  thanks  to  her — and  heaven!     But 

let  that  rest. 
When  one  has  well  nigh  slept  the  sleep  of 

death — 
You  know  I  thought  me  dead — it  seems  not 

sad, 

On  waking,  to  begin  one's  life  anew. 
FREEMAN.     And  we  too  thought  you  dead. 
CECIL.  I  acted  so? 


CECIL  THE  SEER. 


FREEMAN.     You  acted  not  at  all.     You  did  not 

stir. 
CECIL.     No  wonder  !     Had  you  seen  what  I  saw 

then, 
Your  senses  would  have  been  as  hushed  as 

mine. 

FREEMAN.     What  was  it? 
CECIL.  One  might  say  a  vision  —  dream  — 

Perhaps  a  trance.  —  Wait,  till  I  tell  you  it. 
FREEMAN.     If  dreams  came  true,  a  man  might 

prize  them  more. 
CECIL.    At  times,  they  do  come  true.     Mine  will. 

The  power 

That  handles  Kraft  can  make  that  devil  spin 
Like  potter's  clay  to  work  out  his  designs. 
It  all  was  prophesied. 
FREEMAN.  Was  prophesied  ? 

CECIL.     Yes,  —  in  my  vision,  —  all  about  —  your 

marriage. 

FREEMAN.     My  -marriage? 
CECIL.  Yes,  and  then  such  joy  for  me!— 

And  sure  to  come  too  ! 
FREEMAN.  Sure?  —  I  envy  you. 

CECIL.     I  thought  me  dead.     I  woke  and  all 

was  life. 

Above,  I  saw  the  stars;  far  east,  the  dawn. 
If  earth  rolls  on,  it  yet  will  bring  full  day. 
FREEMAN.     And  bright  may  heaven,  too,  make 
it! 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  437 

CECIL.  That  it  will. 

Earth  is  a  field  where  hidden  treasure  lies. 
All  search  for  it.     Their  searching  wakes  their 

thoughts, 
And  draws  out  their  desires,  and  aims  their 

acts. 

At  last,  they  look  and  live  for  that  alone 
Which  lures  beneath  appearances.     Few  find 

it. 
The  few  that  do,  find  that  which  makes  the 

world 

Worth  living  in,  and  worth  yon  circling  dome, 
The  crown  God  made  it,  jeweled  with  the 

stars. 

FREEMAN.     And  you  have  found  it  ? 
CECIL.  Freeman,  yes,  I  have; 

And  know  why  sometimes  earth  seems  holy 

ground, 
And    those    that    tread    it    Godlike.     Then 

Heaven's  face 
Back    there    behind    the    veil    shines    dimly 

through  it. 

But  wait.  I  yet  will  tell  you.  In  our  souls, 
Far  down  within,  are  depths  like  sunken  seas 
All  dark ! — yet  only  when  concealed  from  light 
And  from  the  face  of  love  they  else  might 

image. 
And  my  soul — you  should  know  its  depths  to 

know 


438  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

My    coming   joy;    yet   need   not.     You   will 

guess  it. 
FREEMAN.     Your   mood   alone   can   make   one 

guess  enough 

To  offer  his  congratulations  now. 
(FREEMAN  rises.     So  does  CECIL,  and  they  shake 

hands.) 
And  some  one  else  here  will  be  glad  to  do  it. 

Exit — Left — FREEMAN. 
Enter — Left — MILLY  carrying  a  dish  which  she 

places  on  the  table. 
CECIL   (reseating  himself  and  talking  at  first  to 

MILLY  and,  later,  to  himself). 
How  kind  his  welcome !     It  is  worth  some  loss 
To  know  we  own  some  friends. — And  Faith, 

too,  Faith, — 

She  too,  he  says,  will  be  so  glad  to  see  me. 
I  always  liked  her;  and  I  always  knew 
The  two  were  lovers,  and  they  knew  I  knew  it. 
This  must  have  been  the  reason  why  his  note 
Made  such  a  mere  brief  mention  of  his  mar 
riage; 

As  if,  forsooth,  I  knew  the  news  already. 
I  thought  I  must  have  missed  one  letter  from 

him. 

But  no ;  what  need  of  sending  me  her  name ! — 
Who  could  she  be  but  Faith ! — This  very  room 
Seems  like  her  too.     No  setting  so  becomes 
A  jewel  of  a  woman  as  a  home, — 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  439 

A  loving  home  like  this.     Thank  God,  some 
souls 

Need  not  to  die  before  they  find  their  mates. 

Exit — Left — MILLY. 

Enter— Right— CELIA. 

What? — Celia  here?     And  I  was  never  told 
it? — (He  rises  to  greet  her.) 

Why,  Freeman  said  that  I  should  find  a  friend. 

I  have — the  friend  to  whom  I  owe  my  life. 
CELIA    (shaking    hands    with    CECIL). 

Had  it  been  lost,  it  would  have  been  for  me. 
CECIL.     And  now  when  saved,  let  it  be  saved  for 

you. 

CELIA.     For  me  and  all  who  love  you. 
CECIL  (to  CELIA.)  Ah,  who  love! 

I  would  that  I  could  stay  forever  with  you. 
CELIA.     You  would  not  go  away? 
CECIL.  What,  would  you  wish  me 

To  make  my  home  with  you? 
CELIA.  Why,  yes.— Why  not  ? 

CECIL.     But  I  must  work. 
CELIA.  Yet  people  sue — not  so? — 

In  any  place? 

CECIL  (taking  her  hand).     Shall  I  begin  it  here? 
CELIA.     Begin  and  keep  on  too. 
CECIL.  I  think  I  will. 

CELIA.     It  would  so  please  us  all ! 
CECIL.  And  could  you  think 

That  I  could  feel  at  home  awav  from  vou  ? 


440  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

CELIA.     How  kind  in  you  to  say  that ! — You  will 

live 

Right  here  with  me  and  Freeman? 
CECIL.  You  and  Freeman  ? 

CELIA.     Why,  certainly! — He  wants  it,  too. 
CECIL.  I  see.— 

You  two  together  saved  my  life,  of  course. 
CELIA.     Of  course  we  saved  it,  if  it  could  be 

saved. 

CECIL.     And  so  you  live  with  him  ? 
CELIA.  Because  of  that— 

It  was  our  mutual  interest  in  you. 
Enter — Left — FREEMAN  . 
(Just  as  he  enters,  CELIA,  bowing  to  CECIL 
and  gesturing  toward  the  table,  indi 
cates   that   she   must  prepare  for   the 
meal,  and  moves  toward  the  Left.} 

Exit — Left — CELIA. 

(CECIL  seats  himself  again.  FREEMAN  re 
turns  to  the  closet  near  the  Left,  and, 
while  carrying  on  the  following  con 
versation,  finds  there  a  small  bottle, 
which,  when  presently  he  leaves  the 
room,  he  takes  with  him.} 
CECIL.  She  tells  me  I  must  live  with  you  and 

her. 

FREEMAN.     Yes,  we  had  hoped  so. 
CECIL  (looking  at  CELIA'S  retreating  form.} 

Freeman,  this  is  bliss! 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  441 

FREEMAN.     Yes,  we  are  very  happy. 

CECIL.  That  we  are  !— 

Men  do  not  often  wed  their  own  ideals. 
FREEMAN.     I    know    it.     I    have    thought    it 

through;  and  yet, 
Without  that,  life  can  have  some  brightness 

left. 

CECIL.     Without  that  ? — You  mistake  my  mean 
ing,  Freeman. 

I  need  not  live  without  that.     No,  indeed! 
She  loves  me,  Freeman;  not  a  doubt  of  it. 
FREEMAN.     Who? 
CECIL.  Celia. 

FREEMAN.  Celia? 

CECIL.  Celia,  yes. — Why  not? 

FREEMAN.     You  mean  ? — 
CECIL.     Oh  yes,  you  think  she  is  too  young! 
But,  Freeman,  love  is  of  eternity,  and  knows 
No  youth,  nor  age; — is  like  the  air  of  heaven 
That  tosses  in  its  play  the  dangling  fringe 
Athrill  with  grace  about  our  outward  guise, 
And   runs   its   unseen    fingers    through    our 

hair, 

And  brushes  to  a  glow  our  flushing  cheeks, 
But    has   more   serious   lasting   moods   than 

these. 

It  is  the  substance  of  the  breath  we  breathe 
That  keeps  the  blood  fresh,  and  the  heart  in 
motion ; 


442  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

And,  e'en  when  these  give  out,  it  still  is  there 
To  buoy  us  up  and  bear  on  high  the  spirit. 
FREEMAN.     Oh,  yes!— but  Celia?— 
CECIL.  Wait,  and  let  me  tell  you. 

That  evening  when  that  pistol  shot  was  fired 
That  almost  freed  my  spirit,  Celia  thought 
I  sank  unconscious.     So  I  did  but  not 
Before  heaven  let  me  hear  her  cry — of  me! — 
"  The  only  man  I  ever  loved  is  dead!" 
Then  came  my  more  than  dream.     I  saw  her 

spirit, — 

A  spirit  one  with  mine;  and  that  is  why 
I  run  no  risk.     I  know  that  she  loves  me, 
And  I  love  her ;  and  we  can  both  thank  God 
For  cloud  and  storm  and  flash  that  struck  me 

down, 
And   heaven  in  life  that  followed   death  in 

life.— 

I  see  you  doubt  me.  Is  it  past  belief? 
FREEMAN.  Why — but — excuse  me — I — 
CECIL.  You  know  not  what 

Is  in  a  woman's  heart ! 
(CECIL  looks  down  at  his  paper  as  if  reading.) 

Enter — Left — CELIA. 

CELIA  (to  CECIL,  as  she  places  upon  the  table  a 
dish  that  she  brings,  and   arranges  other 
dishes  on  it) .     Now  I  am  coming 
To  stay  with  you  awhile. 
CECIL  (to  CELIA).     To  be  with  those 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  443 

Who  really  love  one,  is  a  new  delight. 
You  said  you  loved  me,  Celia. 
CELIA.  Why,  of  course — 

Just  as  I  always  have,  and  always  must. 
Exit — Left — FREEMAN,    lifting   his   hands   in   a 

bewildered  way. 
CECIL    (noticing   that   FREEMAN   had   left).     Of 

course ! 
Look — Freeman's  vanished,   Celia. — Have   a 

care. 

To  love  too  much  may  make  him  envious; 
And  chewing  on  the  cud  of  jealousy 
Is  not  a  pleasant  practice  for  one's  friends. 
For  though  you  give  them  naught  to  work 

upon, 

So  much  the  more  the  grinders  work  away 
And  grind  themselves  the  sharper, — ay,  and 

grind 
The  words  that  pass  them  too — made  sharp 

as  arrows 

To  pierce  the  soul  they  hit. 
CELIA.  No  fear  of  him ! — 

We  both  love  you. 
CECIL.  Ah,  I  shall  punish  him ! 

When  he  comes  in, — shall  send  him  after  Faith. 
CELIA.     No;  you  must  not  do  that. 
CECIL.  Oh,  yes,  I  shall. 

CELIA  (taking  a  seat). 
You  would  not  dare. — 


444  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

CECIL.  Not  dare? — Ha,  ha,  ha,  ha! 

CELIA.     No,  no;  I  beg  you  not  to 

CECIL.  Not  to,  Celia? 

CELIA.     You  must  not. 

CECIL.      Must   not  ?  —  And   you   really  mean 

it?— 

Well,  if  you  be  in  earnest,  I  will  not. 
But,  bless  me,  if  I  see  the  reason  why. 
CELIA.     He  loves  Faith. 
CECIL.         Yes;  and  where  would  be  my  joke, 

Unless  he  loved  her? 
CELIA.  There  was  deep,  deep  love, 

I  sometimes  think  it  saddens  him  to-day. 
CECIL.     What  ?  what  ? — not  happy  in  his  married 

life? 
CELIA.     Oh,  one  could  not  say  that — so  kind, 

you  know. 
CECIL.     Yes,  yes? — and  she? — is  she  not  kind 

to  him  ? 

CELIA.     Who?— Faith? 
CECIL.  Yes,  Faith. 

CELIA.  He  never  hears  from  her. 

CECIL.     What? — Are  they  separated? 
CELIA.  Separated ! 

She    went — you    had    not    heard    it? — to    a 

convent. 
CECIL.     She  did? — Poor  Freeman! — When  was 

that? 
CELIA.  Last  year. 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  445 

CECIL  (in  a  perplexed  way). 

But  when  was  Freeman  married? 
CELIA.  Why,  last  March.— 

He  wrote  you  all  about  it. 
CECIL  (startled).  No;  not  all, — 

Not  half  a  page. 

CELIA  (surprised) .    Why,  twenty  pages,  friend  !— 
We  both  wrote  twenty;  and  you  never  got 

them? 
CECIL.     Why,  no;  you  see  I  had  not  heard  of 

Faith — (hesitatingly) . 
And    you   now  —  you    are    living    with    him 

here? 
CELIA.     Yes,  living! — Did  you  think  that  we 

were  boarding? 

CECIL  (slou'ly,  and  struggling  to  conceal  emotion) 
You  know — it  seems — why,  strange — when — 

he  loved  Faith. 
CELIA.     What? — That    he    married    me? — Ke 

told  me  all; 
But  Faith  seems  dead. 
CECIL  (controlling  himself). 

And  he  is  kind,  eh,  Celia? 
CELIA.     Yes,  very  kind. 

CECIL.  Forgive  me,  will  you,  Celia? 

You  see  that  I  have  always  loved  you,  Celia, — • 
Just  as  a  father  loves  a  child,  you  know; 
And  if  my  love  be  anxious  for  you,  Celia, 
Enter — Left — FREEMAN. 


446  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

(He  is  not  observed  by  CECIL  or  CELIA. 

He  replaces  in  the  closet  the  little 
bottle  taken  from  it,  when  in  the  room 
the  previous  time.  While  doing  so, 
he  evidently  hears  the  following  con- 
versation.) 

You  will  not  think  it  strange? 
CELIA.  Nay,  not  a  throb 

In  all  my  heart,  but  you  could  rightly  know  it. 
CECIL.     Your  heart's  wish  is  fulfilled? 
CELIA.  Yes,  yes,  my  love 

Is  deep  and  true.     No  wife  could  love  one 
more. 

Exit — Left — FREEMAN  . 

Enter — Right — JEM  . 
CECIL.     Then  you  have  two  friends, — him  and 

me.     You  stand 
Between  us. 

CELIA  (rising).     I  must  go  now. 
CECIL  (rising).  Yes,  my  daughter! 

Exit — Left — CELIA. 

(CECIL    looks    toward    JEM    whose    sympathetic 
attitude  shows  that  he  understands  CECIL'S 
sacrifice.) 
So    close    the   clouds   of    heaven   upon    my 

dream ! — 

Do  not  repeat  my  talk  to  you  this  morning. — 
I  sometimes  think  the  devil  rules  this  world, 
And  wise  men  rule  it  with  him. — But  no,  no ! — 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  447 

Oh,  what  a  universe  of  agencies 
Are  centered  in  one  life  that  may  be  both 
The  God  and  devil  of  the  soul  it  loves! 
[Yet  wits  were  given  one  to  outwit  the  world. 
If  Celia  be  what  I  have  dreamed  she  is, 
The  world  must  work  its  work  upon  her  will 
Without  one  touch  of  mine,  or  hint,  or  sigh, 
To  make  her  life  more  tempted  or  less  true. — 
Oh,  cursed  world,  in  which  forswearing  love 
Is  our  best  proof  that  we  would  foster  it ! 
But  wait ! — What  moves  me? — Am  I  but  a  fool 
Controlled   by    dreams? — No,    no;    I   had   a 

dream ; 
But  this,  at  least,  is  none, — that  each  who 

aids 

An  angel  upward  for  himself  prepares 
Angelic  friendship;  and  if  there  be  spheres 
Where  spirit  can  reveal  itself  to  spirit, 
And  sympathy  be  sovereign,  there  must  be 
One   soul   supremely   loved.     I   dreamed   no 

dream. 

High,  knightly  chivalry  whose  love  protects, 
Thy  knightly  honor  is  the  sacred  thing 
Of  which  thy  pride  is  conscious.     But — oh 

God!— 

To  be  just  on  the  threshold  of  all  bliss : 
And    fail. — Fail? — No.     Let    Freeman    have 

her  now 
A  few  brief  years. — I  dream  with  her  forever — ] 


448  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

But,  Jem,  you  seem  to  have  some  message  for 

me. 
JEM.     Some  white  folks  heah  as  wants  ter  speak 

wid  yer. 

CECIL    (in   surprise).     With   me? — I   have   no 
friends  here. — Bid  them  enter. 
Enter — Right — as    JEM    holds    open    the 
door,    THREE    GENTLEMEN.       They 
wear  overcoats  and  hold  their  hats  in 
their  hands.     CECIL   exchanges  bows 
with   them,    and   motions   toward   the 
chairs. 

And  will  you  sit  ? 
FIRST  GENTLEMAN.     No,  thanks.     We  have  no 

time. 

Our  party's  first  convention  meets  to-morrow. 
The  news  is  ominous.     We  may  have  war. 
We  came  as  a  committee  to  request 
To  hear  from  you. 

CECIL.  To  hear  from  me? — and  why? 

FIRST  GENT.     You  suffer  from  the  wrongs  of 

slavery 

That  we  oppose. 

CECIL.  But  here  I  am  a  stranger. 

FIRST  GENT.     Good  reputation  is  to  good  men 

what 

Fine  perfume  is  to  flowers.  A  charm  it  has 
Which  lures  the  sense  that  heeds  it  to  a  search 
That  will  not  cease  till  finding  its  fair  source. 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  449 

CECIL.     You  do  me  too  much  honor. 

FIRST  GENT.  Honor  us; 

And  let  our  people  hear  you. 
CECIL.  If  my  words— 

FIRST  GENT.     The  words  of  men  whose  deeds 

have  proved  them  true 
Are  also  true. 

CECIL.  Thanks.     If  you  think  them  so, 

They  may  at  least  command  your  interest. 
And  he  whose  words  can  wake  the  earth  to 

thought 
Has  heaven's  own  warrant  that  he  should  be 

heard. 

Yes;  I  will  come. 
FIRST  GENT.  Thanks. 

SECOND  GENT  AND  THIRD.     Thanks. 

(All  move  toward  the  Right  Entrance. 
JEM  who  is  nearest  it  opens  the  door 
there.  CECIL  and  the  GENTLEMEN 
exchange  bows.) 

CECIL.  We  meet  to-morrow. 

Exeunt — Right — the    THREE    GENTLEMEN    and 

JEM. 


SCENE  SECOND: — An  open  field  or  village  green. 
Backing  in  the  distance,  village  houses,  and 
beyond  them  hill  scenery.  Extending  diagonally 
across  the  Right  Rear  corner  is  a  cottage  fronted 

29 


450  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

by  a  porch,  the  latter  being  a  platform  elevated 
about  a  foot  above  the  rest  of  the  stage.  At  the 
Left  of  the  stage  are  trees  and  a  tent,  apparently 
one  of  a  soldiers'  encampment  beyond  it. 

ENTRANCES:  Right,  between  trees;  Right  Rear 
from  a  door  opening  from  the  cottage  on  to  the 
porch;  Back  Center  from  behind  the  cottage; 
Left,  Front  and  Rear,  from  behind  trees,  or  the 
tent. 

As  the  curtain  rises,  MILITIA  and  POPULACE  are 
seen  grouped  at  the  Left. 
(They  sing  as  follows:) 

The  trumpets  call  to  action 

Through  all  the  threatened  land 
No  more  is  heard  of  faction. 
The  time  has  come  to  band. 

What  soul  can  see 
The  state  in  fear  and  fail  to  be 
Beneath  the  flag,  enrolled  with  all 
That  heed  the  trumpet's  call? 
No  patriot  is  he  who  can  see 
The  state  in  fear  and  fail  to  be 
Beneath  the  flag,  enrolled  with  all 
That  heed  the  trumpet's  call. 

The  best  of  men  are  brothers. 

The  worst  can  be  a  foe; 
And  not  for  self  but  others, 

True  men  to  battle  go. 

No  longer  meek, 
Where  wrong  is  cruel,  right  is  weak, 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  45 1 

Or  aught  has  brought  the  base  to  band, — 
They  throng  to  lend  a  hand. 
No  true  man  is  he  who  can  see 
The  state  in  fear,  and  fail  to  be 
Beneath  the  flag,  enrolled  with  all 
That  heed  the  trumpet's  call. 

Who,  think  you,  live  in  story 

That  live  for  self  alone? 
Who  care  to  swell  his  glory 
That  cares  not  for  their  own? 

In  every  strife 

That  stirs  the  pulse  to  nobler  life, 
The  man  that  has  the  thrilling  heart, 
He  plays  the  thrilling  part. 
No  hero  is  he  who  can  see 
The  state  in  fear,  and  fail  to  be 
Beneath  the  flag,  enrolled  with  all 
That  heed  the  trumpet's  call. 

Exeunt — Left — MILITIA  and  POPULACE. 
Enter — Back  Center — CECIL,  and  a  GENTLEMEN. 

Enter — Right — FAITH,  dressed  as  a  nun. 
CECIL  (to  GENTLEMAN). 

These  clouds  of  war  break  like  a  thunder-clap 
Amid  clear  skies  of  summer;  but  will  bring 
Our  plant  of  freedom  to  a  finer  fruitage. 
Exit — Left — G  ENTLEMAN. 
(suddenly  noticing  FAITH.) 
Faith  Hycher? 

FAITH  (to  CECIL).     Yes — on  business. 
CECIL.  With  me? 


452  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

FAITH.     Old    friends    of    ours    are    here — have 
interest 

In  land  near  by  us.     Being  of  the  South 

They  came  to  deed  it  so  as  not  to  lose  it; 

And  stand  arrested.     People  deem  them  spies. 
CECIL.     Who  are  they  ? 
FAITH.  Why,  my  mother,  Father  Hycher, 

Lowe,  Blaver,  Kraft — 
CECIL.  His  wife  too? 

FAITH.  Yes. 

CECIL.  Humph,  humph ! 

FAITH.     Their  holdings  were  not  small.     The 
time  was  brief. 

All  came  here  who  might  need  to  sign  their 

papers. 

CECIL.     And  what  can  I  do? 
FAITH.  Say  you  know  them — you 

And  Freeman. 

CECIL.     You  have  seen  him — Freeman? 
FAITH  (hesitating) .  No — 

CECIL  (kindly).     I  understand  you. 
FAITH.  It  was  not  his  fault: 

I  was  deceived. 
CECIL.  By  whom? 

FAITH.  By   Father   Hycher. 

CECIL.     Yet  now  you  wish  to  help  the  Father  ? 
FAITH.  Yes. 

CECIL.     As   I   should   help   the   Krafts? — You 
think  I  should? — 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  453 

[Faith,  you  and  I  have  loved  supremely, — yet 
Our  love  has  loved  another. — Could  this  be 
Of  that  form   which  we  walk  with  in    our 

dreams  ? 
FAITH.     Why— 

CECIL.     Did  you  ever  think  that  all  our  dreams 
Are  in  ourselves;  and  this  form  too  may  be 

there? 
They   say   that   human   brains,    ay,   all   our 

frames 
Are  doubled. — If  so,  why? — For  use? — then 

whose  ? — 

Who  is  it  twins  existence  with  us  here? — 
What  if  it  be  our  living,  better  self 
Which  under  consciousness  we  vaguely  feel 
Dreams  while  we  wake  and  wakes  the  while 

we  dream, 

Recalls  what  we  forget,  incites,  and  is 
Less  form  than  spirit,  but,  because  a  spirit, 
Heaven's  representative,  our  guardian,  guide, 
And  all  that  tells  of  God  ?     You  know  all  praise 
The  men  dependent  only  on  themselves. 
Yet  why? — Is  it  so  noble  to  be  free 
From  love,  or  wish  for  love?     Or  own  these 

men 

A  subtle  consciousness  of  nobler  love 
Which,  in  the  spirit-life,  is  all  in  all? 
Know  they  that  earthly  forms  which  seem 

divine 


454  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

But  image  that  within  which  is  divine? — 
Though  you  have  wed  the  church,  Faith,  I 

have  not; 
And  yet  the  bonds  that  bind  us  may  not 

differ.—] 
If  so,  Faith — yes — your  friends  shall  have  my 

help. 

FAITH.     How  kind ! 

CECIL.          For  you,  for  me,  for  all  whose  paths 
Of  honor  and  of  sympathy  divide, 
One  choice  alone  remains — to  dwell  content 
With  loneliness,  and  one's  ideal,  and  God. 

(Both  bow.) 
Exit— Left— FAITH. 
Enter — Right   Rear — coming   suddenly  from   the 

cottage  on  to  the  porch,  CELIA. 
CELIA  (to  CECIL).     Save,  save  my  husband! 
CECIL.  Save  from  what? 

CELIA.  From  death, 

From  certain  death. 
CECIL.  To  march  to  war  is  not 

To  march  to  certain  death. 
CELIA.  My  throbbing  heart 

Would  spend  its  blood  in  blushes  for  my  shame 
Till  it  forgot  to  give  my  being  life, 
If,  by  a  single  sigh,  I  durst  keep  back 
One  soldier  from  the  ranks  of  this  just  war. 
CECIL.     What  mean  you  then? 
CELIA.  That  he  has  volunteered 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  455 

To  be  a  spy,  and  in  the  very  town 
Where  he  has  lived,  is  known,  and  hated  too. 
He  can  but  be  detected. 
CECIL.  You  are  right. 

I  see  him  coming. 

(pointing    to    the    Left. — CELIA    looks    at    him, 
inquiringly.) 

You  would  better  leave  us. 
Exit — Right  Rear — CELIA. 
Enter — Left — FREEMAN,    dressed    as    an    officer. 

(to  FREEMAN). 

Your  wife  says  you  have  volunteered  to  be 
A   spy,   where   you   are   sure   to    meet    with 

death. 

FREEMAN.     I  may  succeed. 
CECIL.  You  scarce  can  hope  to  do  so. 

FREEMAN  (with  assumed  indifference). 

And  what  if  not  ? 
CECIL.  Then  you  are  not  the  man 

To  trust  on  such  a  mission. 
FREEMAN.  Not? — How  so? 

CECIL.     No  man,  if  wise,  will  waive  from  what  he 

plans 

The  prospect  of  success.     If  you  attempt  it, 
Trust  me  to  thwart  you. 
FREEMAN.     Humph !     You  seem  officious. 
CECIL.     One  needs  to  be  at  times;  and  now 

your  life 
And  Celia's  happiness  are  both  at  stake. 


456  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

FREEMAN.     Not  Celia's  happiness. 

CECIL.  What  do  you  mean? 

FREEMAN.     I  mean,  since  men  have  talked  so 

much  against 

Our  owning  blacks,  the  time  is  coming  fast 
For  some  to  talk  against  our  owning  whites. 
CECIL.     And  what  suggested  this? 
[FREEMAN.  You  know — We  both 

Have  seen  both  men  and  women  treat  their 

peers — 

In  wedlock,  yes,  but  also  out  of  it — 
As  if  they  owned  them ;  and  society 
Approved,  enforced  their  course.    Mere  selfish 
ness 

Has  been  enthroned  so  long  in  men's  affairs, 
That    naught    seems    worthy    of  respect   to 

some 

Of  which  it  only  is  not  king  and  guide. 
CECIL.     And  pray,  too,  what  of  that?] 
FREEMAN.  If  Celia  find 

More  joy  in  your  society  than  mine, 
Then  let  her  find  it.     Did  I  marry  her 
To  limit  her  delights? 

CECIL.  Why,  Freeman,  friend, 

Look     here   at     me — You    are    an    upright 

man, 

(placing  his  hand  on  FREEMAN'S  shoulder.) 
And  so  am  I.     But,  ere  I  knew  you  married, 
Was  it — with  all  that  she  and  I  had  been — 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  457 

So  strange  that  I  should  have — those — whims 

of  mine  ? 

FREEMAN.     She  told  you  that  she  loved  you. 
CECIL.  Yes,  she  did : 

But  as  a  daughter. 

(FREEMAN  looks  incredulous.) 
I  am  not  the  man 
You  should  distrust. 

[FREEMAN.  AVho  knows  what  men  can  be, 

Till  pierced  where  tenderest !     It  was  the  fleet 
Achilles  could  be  wounded  in  the  heel; 
And  some  have  heads,  and  some  have  hearts 

to  hurt. 
CECIL.    I  say  she  said  she  loved  me  as  a  daughter. 

I  quote  her  right.] 

FREEMAN.  She  said  no  more  than  that? 

CECIL.     When  speaking  of  her  love,  she  said  no 

more. 
She   gave  no  slightest  hint  that  meant  not 

that. 

FREEMAN.     Yet  you  love  her? 
CECIL.  In  the  degree  I  do, 

Her   honor    I    would   guard,    as,    too,    mine 

own; 

And  guard  her  love  too.     She  has  told  me  all. 
She  loves  you  as  a  true  and  faithful  wife. 
So  let  me  save  you  for  her.     Be  no  spy, 
But  captain,  colonel,  general, — who  knows 
What  fortune  may  await  the  tide  of  war ! 


458  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

FREEMAN.     And  you  ? 

CECIL.  Am  I,  think  you,  a  man  to  play 

A  second  fiddle  to  your  tune  of  love — 
With  instrument  all  broke  beyond  repair, 
Make  discord  of  the  music  of  your  life? 
I  promise  you  to  leave  here. 
FREEMAN.  Leave  your  home? — 

You  have  no  other. 
CECIL.  Some  will  open  for  me. 

(pointing  toward  the  tent.) 
There  were  one  here,  did  my  infirmities 
Not  keep  me  from  the  army. 

(Shouts  are  heard  at  the  Left.) 
Enter — Left — A  guard  of  MILITIA  headed 
by  an  OFFICER,  and  conducting  BLA- 
VER  and  Miss  PRIMWOOD — now 
the  wife  of  BLAVER  —  LOWE  and 
MADAM  LOWE,  KRAFT  and  MAD 
AM  CECIL  —  now  MADAM  KRAFT 
— FATHER  HYCHER  and  WIDOW 
HYCHER,  attended  by  FAITH.  POPU 
LACE  follow. 
FREEMAN  (in  evident  astonishment). 

Who  are  they? 

CECIL.     I  think  you  know  them. 
FREEMAN  (noticing  FATHER  HYCHER). 

Father— ?— Now  will  I 
Get  even  with  him. 
CECIL.  There  is  no  such  thing 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  459 

As  getting  even  with  a  low-lived  soul, 
Without  one's  lowering  his  own  self. 

(to  the  OFFICER.)     And  who 
Are  these? 
OFFICER.     All  spies. 
OTHER  PEOPLE.        To  shoot. 
ANOTHER.  And  all  have  land 

To  confiscate. 
OFFICER    (to   CECIL).     They   tell  us   that   you 

know  them. 

CECIL.     Why,    yes;    and    Freeman    too. — Ah, 
Madam  B  la  ver! 

(CECIL  and  FREEMAN  shake  hands  with 
Miss     PRIMWOOD — now        MADAM 
BLAVER — with  MADAM  LOWE,  WID 
OW   HYCHER,    LOWE   and    BLAVER, 
but  not  with  the  others.     CECIL  con 
tinues    to    the    OFFICER,     gesturing 
toward  the  ladies,  including  MADAM 
CECIL — now  MADAM  KRAFT.) 
Our  war  is  not  with  ladies,  I  believe? 
(The   OFFICER   apparently   agrees  with   him.) 
FATHER  HYCHER.     I  am  a  clergyman. 
CECIL  Quite  true;  and  we? — 

(looking  for  assent  to  FREEMAN.) 
FREEMAN.     Of  course,  we  have  no  strife  here 

with  religion. 
LOWE.     I  am  a  Friend. 
CECIL.  He  is. 


460  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

LOWE.  With  me  the  chief 

Consideration  is  religion. 
B LAYER.  And  I 

A  prohibitionist.     Our  pleas  were  all 

Based  on  religious  grounds. 
OFFICER.  And  what  of  that  ? 

FREEMAN    (laughing).     You    fail    to    catch    its 
bearing? — When  they  take 

Their  oath  of  loyalty,  why,  they  will  keep  it. 

(The  prisoners  make  startled  signs  of  dissent.) 
CECIL.  And  this,  too,  may  be  said, — that  as  a  rule 

The  Friends  are  on  our  side;   and  are  not 
fighters. 

So  too  with  prohibitionists. 
FREEMAN  (to  CECIL,  in  a  laughing  way). 

For  once, 

Religion  seems  to  help  them  in  their  practice. 
OFFICER  (taking  KRAFT  roughly  by  the  shoulder). 

But  here  the  case  is  clearly  different. 

We  know  him,  and  his  party. 
MADAM  CECIL-KRAFT  (to  CECIL).     Could  I  talk 

A  moment  with  you? 

CECIL.  Oh,  yes,  if  it  please  you. 

(CECIL  and  MADAM  CECIL-KRAFT,  walk  to  one 

side.) 

MADAM  C.     You  know  my  father  died. 
CECIL    (nodding   toward   KRAFT).     Before   you 
married?     (MADAM  C.  nods  in  assent.) 

A  happy  man ! 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  461 

MADAM  C.  He  left  some  property. 

It  now  is  in  this  land. 
CECIL.  In  Kraft's  name? 

MADAM  C.  Yes. 

(hesitatingly,  after  pausing  a  moment.) 

There  was  an  informality 

CECIL.  In  what  ? 

MADAM  C.     My  marriage — 
CECIL.  I  should  think  so! — 

MADAM  C.  Not  in  that, 

But  in  the  mode  of  transfer.     I  would  deed 

You  half— 
CECIL.      No,    thank    you  —  neither    half    nor 

all, 
MADAM  C.     And  you  would  have  me  lose  my 

property  ? 
KRAFT  (coming  forward,  followed  by  FREEMAN). 

No;  surely  you  will  help  us? 
CECIL.  Surely? — why? 

KRAFT.     You  know  I  am  no  spy. 
CECIL.  How  do  I  know  it? 

KRAFT.     My  character 

CECIL.  What  character? 

KRAFT.  And  you 

Would  have  me  shot? 
CECIL  (to  FREEMAN). 

Shot  at,  perhaps? — Not  so? — 

By  proxy,  eh? — And  in  a  better  cause 

Than  his  past  deeds  deserve? 


462  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

FREEMAN.  I  see. 

(to  the  SOLDIERS.)     Say,  friends, 
We  all  would  save  the  lands  of  loyal  men. 
All  loyal  men  about  us  are  enlisting. 
If  Kraft  be  loyal,  he  will  do  the  same. 
(  The  SOLDIERS  make  signs  of  approval.) 

(to  KRAFT.) 
What  say  you? 
KRAFT  (hesitatingly). 

Had  I — a — commission 

FREEMAN.  That 

Would  prove  unwise  the  one  who  gave  it  you. 

CECIL  (to  KRAFT,  putting  his  hand  on  FREEMAN'S 

shoulder) . 

Places  of  trust  are  only  for  the  trusted; 
And    high    commissions    but    for    men    with 

missions. 
FREEMAN  (to  KRAFT)  .     What  say  you — prison  or 

private? — Make  your  choice. 
KRAFT  (abjectly) . 

Why,  if  I  must 

F REEM AN  .  It  looks  as  i f  you  must . 

Enter — Left — hurriedly,   Two   GENTLEMEN. 
(Commotion  among  the  POPULACE  near  them  and 

following  them.) 
POPULACE.     Hurrah ! 

Enter — Right  Rear — evidently  attracted  by 
the  commotion,  CELIA,  followed  by  JEM 
and  MILLY,  and  simd  on  the  porch. 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  463 

FIRST    GENTLEMAN    (to    CECIL).     They   nomi 
nated  you. 
CECIL.      For  what? 

FIRST  GENT.     For  representative  at  Washing 
ton. 
SECOND  GENT,  (shaking  hands  with  CECIL). 

And  I  congratulate  the  district  too 
CECIL.     But  I? — a  stranger? 
FIRST  GENT.  No,  no ;  one  well  known. 

SECOND  GENT.     The  only  home  you  have  now 

must  be  here; 
For  here  they  brought  and  nursed  you,  when 

so  ill. 
FIRST  GENT.     And  when  the  factions  could  not 

else  agree, 

They  all  could  join  on  you. 
PEOPLE.  Hurrah!   hurrah! 

SECOND  GENT.     And  nomination  here  is  sure 

election. 
PEOPLE.     Hurrah!  hurrah!  hurrah!    A  speech! 

a  speech ! 
CECIL  (ascending  the  porch,  where  he  stands  with 

CELIA  at  his  Right). 
This  is  no  time  for  words.     The  world  needs 

work; 

But  one  whose  forced  infirmities  prevent 
His  bearing  arms  and  marching  to  the  front, 
May  choose  the  course  that  you  commend  to 
him. 


4^4  CECIL  THE  SEER. 

(Cheers  from  the  crowd.     CECIL  gestures  toward 

the  SOLDIERS.) 

But  do  not  think  you  only  move  to  war; 
Or  deem  that  I  stay  here  to  dwell  in  peace. 
To  men  whose  purposes,  like  ours,  push  on 
To  work  out  high  designs,  all  life  on  earth 
Is  girt  with  warfare,  where  the  light  of  heaven 
That  brings  us  each  new  day's  enlightenment, 
Contends   with    darkness,    and   there   is   no 

peace. 

Our  very  bodies  are  but  phantoms  formed 
Of  that  same  darkness  that  we  must  oppose, 
And  we  must  fight,  if  nothing  else,  ourselves. 
Ay,  whether  we  may  march  our  frames  to 

greet 

The  cannon's  mouth,  or  duty's  commoner  call, 
Go  where  death  threatens,  or  long  seems  to 

tarry, 

One  destiny,  at  last,  awaits  us  all: 
Upon  life's  little  stage  the  play  will  close, 
The  curtain  drop,  and  leave  the  actor  dead. 
Yet,  soldiers,  what  care  you,  or  what  care  I? — • 
The  souls  that  fight  for  truth,  beyond  scenes 

here, 

Find  life  that  does  not  end  in  tragedy; 
For  all  our  world  is  but  a  theater 
Outside  whose  walls,  where  shine  the  stars  of 

heaven, 
The  actors  with  their  roles  and  robes  laid  by 


CECIL  THE  SEER.  465 

May  all  meet  smiling  in  the  open  air. 

And  now — to  play  our  several  parts — farewell. 

(bowing  to  those  before  him,  then  turning  to  CELIA 
and  taking  her  hand.} 

(Blast  of  bugles,  as  the  SOLDIERS  fall  into  line, 
with  KRAFT  well  guarded.) 


CURTAIN. 

END. 
30 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  G.   P.   PUTNAM'S  SOXS 

THE  AZTEC  GOD,  AND 
OTHER  DRAMAS 

BY   GEORGE    L.    RAYMOND 


l6MO,  CLOTH   EXTRA,  $1.25 


"  It  is  not  with  the  usual  feeling  of  disappointment  that  one  lays  down 
this  little  book.  One  reads  'The  Aztec  God  '  with  pleasure.  . 
4  Cecil  the  Seer  '  is  a  drama  of  the  occult.  In  it  the  author  attempts  to 
describe  the  conditions  in  the  spiritual  world  exactly  as  they  exist  accord 
ing  to  coinciding  testimony  of  bwedenborg,  of  the  modern  Spiritualist,  and 
of  all  supposed  to  have  explored  them  in  trance  states.  Indirectly, 
perhaps,  the  whole  is  a  much  needed  satire  upon  the  social,  political,  and 
religious  conditions  of  our  present  materialistic  life.  .  .  .  In 'Columbus' 
one  finds  a  work  which  it  is  difficult  to  avoid  injuring  with  fulsome 
praise.  The  character  of  the  great  discoverer  is  portrayed  grandly  and 
greatly.  .  .  .  It  is  difficult  to  conceive  how  anyone  who  cares  for  that 
which  is  best  in  literature  .  .  .  could  fail  to  be  strengthened  and 
uplifted  by  this  heroic  treatment  of  one  of  the  great  stories  of  the  world." 
-V.  Y.  Press. 

"  One  must  unreservedly  commend  the  clear,  vigorous  statement,  the 
rhythmic  facility,  the  copious  vocabulary,  and  the  unvarying  elevated 
tone  of  tne  three  dramas.  .  .  .  The  poetic  quality  reveals  itself  in 
breadth  of  vision  and  picturesque  imagery.  One  is,  indeed,  not  seldom 
in  peril  of  forgetting  plot  and  character-action  in  these  dramas,  because 
of  the  glowing  imagination." — Home  Journal. 

"  The  time  and  place  make  the  play  an  historic  study  of  inteiest,  aside 
from  its  undoubted  high  poetic  quality  and  elevation  of  thought  .  . 
The  metre  of  the  dramas  is  Shakespearian,  and  that  master's  influence  is 
constantly  Apparent.  It  is  needless  to  say  to  those  who  know  the  author's 
remarkable  abilities  that  the  plays  are  substantial  and  reflect  perfectly 
the  author's  mind." — Portland  Transcript. 

Modern  Fishres  of  Men.     I2mo,  cloth,  gilt  top    .     $1.00 

"This  delightful  novel  is  written  with  charming  insight.  The 
rare  gift  of  character  delineation  the  author  can  claim  in  full.  .  .  . 
Shrewd  comments  upon  life  and  character  add  spice  to  the  pages." — 
Nashville  Tennessean. 

"  Deals  with  love  and  religion  in  a  small  country  town,  and  under 
the  facile  pen  and  keen  humor  of  the  author,  the  various  situations 
.  .  .  are  made  the  most  of  ...  true  to  the  life." — Boston  Globe. 

"Such  a  spicy,  racy,  more-truth-than-fiction  work  has  not  been 
placed  in  our  hands  for  a  long  time." — Chicago  Evening  Journal. 

"Essentially  humorous,  with  an  undercurrent  of  satire  .  .  .  also 
subtle  character  delineation,  which  will  appeal  strongly  to  those 
who  have  the  perceptive  faculties  highly  developed." — San  Francisco 
Bulletin. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

A  LIFE  IN  SONG 

BY  GEORGE  L.  RAYMOND 


l6MO,  CLOTH  EXTRA,  $1.25 


*'  An  age-worn  poet,  dying  amid  strangers  in  a  humble  village  home, 
leaves  the  record  of  his  life  in  a  pile  of  manuscrii 


script  poems.     These  are 


up  the  gamut  of  life.  .  .  .  This  is  the  simple  but  unique  plan, 
which  .  .  .  ^  forms  but  the  mere  outline  of  a  remarkably  fine  study  of 
the  hopes,  aspirations,  and  disappointments  of  life,  .  .  .  an  American 
modern  life.  .  .  .  The  author  sees  poetry,  and  living  poetry,  where 
the  most  of  men  see  prose.  .  .  .  The  objection,  so  often  brought 
against  our  young  poets,  that  form  outweighs  the  thought,  cannot  be 
urged  in  this  instance,  for  the  poems  of  Prof.  Raymond  are  full  of  keen 
and  searching  comments  upon  life.  Neither  can  the  objection  be  urged 
of  the  lack  of  the  human  element.  'A  Life  in  Song'  is  not  only  dra 
matic  in  tendency,  but  is  singularly  realistic  and  acute.  .  .  .  The 
volume  will  appeal  to  a  large  class  of  readers  by  reason  of  its  clear,  musi^ 
cal,  flexible  verse,  its  fine  thought,  and  its  intense  human  interest." — 
Boston  Transcript. 

44  Professor  Raymond  is  no  dabbler  in  the  problem  of  the  human  spirit, 
and  no  tyro  in  the  art  of  word  painting,  as  those  who  know  his  prose 
works  can  testify.  These  pages  contain  a  mine  of  rich  and  disciplined 
reflection,  and  abound  in  beautiful  passages." — Hartford  Theological 
Seminary  Record, 

"  Here  are  lines  which,  if  printed  in  letters  of  gold  upon  the  front  of 
every  pulpit,  and  practised  by  every  one  behind  one,  would  transform  the 
face  of  the  theological  world.  ...  In  short,  if  you  are  in  search  of 
ideas  that  are  unconventional  and  up-to-date,  get  '  A  Life  in  Song,'  and 
read  it." — Unity. 

u  Some  day  Dr.  Raymond  will  be  universally  recognized  as  one  of  the 
leaders  in  the  new  thought-movement.  .  .  .  He  is  a  poet  in  the  truest 
sense.  His  ideals  are  ever  of  the  highest,  and  his  interpretation  is  of  the 
clearest  and  sweetest.  He  has  richness  of  genius,  intensity  of  human 
feeling,  and  the  refinement  of  culture.  His  lines  are  alive  with  action, 
luminous  with  thought  and  passion,  and  melodious  with  music." — 
Cleveland  World. 

The  main  impulse  and  incident  of  the  life  are  furnished  by  the  enlist 
ment  of  the  hero  in  the  anti-slavery  cause.  The  story  of  his  love  is  also 
a  leading  factor,  and  is  beautifully  told.  The  poem  displays  a  mastery 
of  poetic  rhythm  and  construction,  and,  as  a  whole,  is  pervaded  by  the 
imaginative  quality  which  lifts  k  a  life  '  into  the  region  of  poetry, — the 
peculiar  quality  which  marks  Wordsworth." — Christian  Intelligencer. 

"  It  is  a  great  work,  and  shows  that  America  has  a  great  poet.  .  .  . 
A  century  from,  now  this  poem  will  be  known  and  quoted  wherever  fine 
thought  is  appreciated,  or  brave  deeds  sung." — Western  Rural. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

BALLADS  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

BY  GEORGE  L.  RAYMOND 


l6MO,  CLOTH  EXTRA,  $1.25 


u  In  the  construction  of  the  ballad,  he  has  given  some  notable  exam 
ples  of  what  may  be  wrought  of  native  material  by  one  who  has  a  tasteful 
ear  and  practised  hand.  If  he  does  not  come  up  to  the  standard  of  the 
ancient  ballad,  which  is  the  model,  he  has  done  as  well  as  any  of  the 
younger  American  authors  who  have  attempted  this  kind  of  work,  and 
there  is  true  enjoyment  in  all  that  he  has  written.  Of  his  other  poems, 
the  dramatic  poem,  '  Haydn,'  is  finished  in  form,  and  has  literary  value, 
as  well  as  literary  power.  — Boston  Globe. 

"  The  author  has  achieved  a  very  unusual  success,  a  success  to  which 
genuine  poetic  power  has  not  more  contributed  than  wide  reading  and 
extensive  preparation.  The  ballads  overflow,  not  only  with  the  general, 
but  the  very  particular,  truths  of  history." — Cincinnati  Times. 

"  It  may  well  find  readers  in  abundance  .  .  .  for  the  sake  of  the 
many  fine  passages  which  it  contains.  .  .  .  'Ideals  made  Real'  has 
one  point  of  very  high  excellence  ...  we  have  in  the  conception  of 
the  character  of  Edith  the  work  of  a  genuinely  dramatic  poet.  ...  In 
Edith  we  have  a  thoroughly  masculine  intellect  in  a  thoroughly  feminine 
soul,  not  merely  by  the  author's  assertion,  but  by  actual  exhibition. 
Every  word  that  Edith  speaks,  every  act  that  she  does,  is  in  accord  with 
this  conception.  ...  It  is  sufficient,  without  doubt,  to  give  life  to  a 
less  worthy  performance,  and  it  proves  beyond  doubt  that  Mr.  Raymond 
is  the  possessor  of  a  poetic  faculty  which  is  worthy  of  the  most  careful 
and  conscientious  cultivation." — N.  Y.  Evening  Post. 

"A  very  thoughtful  study  of  character  .  .  .  great  knowledge  of 
.  .  .  aims  and  motives.  .  .  .  Such  as  read  this  poem  will  derive 
from  it  a  benefit  more  lasting  than  the  mere  pleasure  of  the  moment." — 
London  Spectator. 

"  Mr.  Raymond  is  a  poet  emphatically,  and  not  a  scribbler  in  rhyme.' 
London  Literary  Churchman. 

"  His  is  no  mere  utterance  of  dreams  and  fancies.  His  poetry  takes 
hold  on  life  ;  it  enters  the  arena  where  its  grandest  and  purest  motives 
are  discussed,  and  by  the  vigor  and  beauty  of  the  language  it  holds  itself 
on  a  level  with  the  highest  themes.  .  .  .  Every  thoughtful  reader  .  .  . 
will  wish  that  the  poems  had  been  longer  or  that  there  had  been  more  of 
them.  It  would  be  possible  to  quote  passage  after  passage  of  rare, 
beauty."— Utica  Herald. 

**  ,  «  .  Rhythmical  in  its  flow  and  deliciously  choice  in  language 
.  .  .  indicating  a  deep  acquaintance  with  human  nature,  while  there 
is  throughout  a  tone  that  speaks  plainly  of  a  high  realization  of  the  divine 
purpose  in  life  .  .  .  Not  the  least  charming  characteristic  is  its  rich 
ness  in  pen-and-ink  pictures  marked  by  rare  beauty  and  presenting  irre 
sistibly  that  which  the  poet  saw  in  his  mind's  eye.  .  .  .  We  confidently 
promise  that  any  one  taking  it  up  will  enjoy  the  reading  throughout,  thaf 
is,  if  there  is  any  poetry  in  him." — Boston  Evening  Journal. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

BOOKS  BY  PROFESSOR  RAYMOND 


Dante  and  Collected  Verse.     i6mo,  cloth,  gilt  top  .     $1.25 

"Epigram,  philosophy,  history — these  are  the  predominant  ele 
ments  .  .  .  which  masterly  construction,  pure  diction,  and  lofty 
sentiment  unite  in  making  a  glowing  piece  of  blank  verse. " — Chicago 
Herald. 

"The  poems  will  be  read  with  keenest  enjoyment  by  all  who 
appreciate  literary  genius,  refined  sentiment,  and  genuine  culture. 
The  publication  is  a  gem  throughout." — New  Haven  Leader. 

"The  poet  and  the  reformer  contend  in  Professor  Raymond. 
When  the  latter  has  the  mastery,  we  respond  to  the  justice,  the  high 
ideals,  the  truth  of  all  he  says — and  says  with  point  and  vigor — but 
when  the  poet  conquers,  the  imagination  soars.  .  .  .  The  mountain 
poems  are  the  work  of  one  with  equally  high  ideals  of  life  and  of 
song." — Glasgow  (Scotland)  Herald. 

"Brother  Jonathan  can  not  claim  many  great  poets,  but  we  think 
he  has  'struck  oil,'  in  Professor  Raymond." — Western  (England) 
Morning  News. 

"This  brilliant  comppsition  .  .  gathers  up  and  concentrates  for  the 
reader  more  of  the  reality  of  the  great  Italian  than  is  readily  gleaned 
from  the  author  of  the  Inferno  himself." — Oakland  Enquirer. 

Pictures  in  Verse.  With  20  illustrations  by  Maud  Stumm. 
Square  8vo,  in  ornamental  cloth  covers  .  .  $  .75 

"Little  love  poems  of  a  light  and  airy  character,  describing  pretty 
rustic  scenes,  or  domestic  interiors.  ...  As  charming  for  its  illustra 
tions  as  for  its  reading  matter. " — Detroit  Free  Press. 

"Simple  songs  of  human  every-day  experience  .  .  .  with  a 
twinkle  of  homely  humor  and  a  wholesome  reflection  of  domestic 
cheer.  We  like  his  optimistic  sentiments,  and  unspoiled  spirit  of 
boyishness  when  he  strikes  the  chord  of  love.  It  is  all  very  true  and 
good." — The  Independent. 

The  Mountains  about  Williamstown.  With  an  introduc 
tion  by  M.  M.  Miller,  and  35  full-page  illustrations 
from  original  photographs  ;  oblong  shape,  cloth,  gilt 
edges.  Net,  postpaid  .  .  .  .  $2.00 

"The  beauty  of  these  photographs  from  so  many  points  of  vantage 
would  of  itselt  suffice  to  show  the  fidelity  and  affection  with  which 
Professor  Raymond  pursued  the  theme  of  his  admirably  constructed 
poems.  The  introduction  by  his  pupil,  friend,  and  associate  is  an  ex 
haustive  study.  No  better  or  more  thorough  review  could  be  written 
of  the  book,  or  more  clearly  point  out  the  directness  and  power  of 
Professor  Raymond's  work.  .  .  .  Among  his  many  books  none 
justifies  more  brilliantly  the  correctness  and  charm  of  his  rhetorical 
instruction,  or  his  facility  in  exemplifying  what  he  commends." — 
Hartford  (Conn.)  Courant. 

Rhythm  and  Harmony  in  Poetry  and  Music.     8°     .     $1.75 

"The  reader  must  be,  indeed,  a  person  either  of  supernatural 
stupidity  or  of  marvellous  erudition,  who  does  not  discover  much 
information  in  Prof.  Raymond's  exhaustive  and  instructive  treatise. 
From  page  to  page  it  is  full  of  suggestion." — The  Academy  (London). 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

PROFESSOR  RAYMOND'S  ART-BOOKS 


Art  in  Theory.     8vo,  cloth  extra.          .        .        .        $1.75 

"  A  well  grounded,  thoroughly  supported,  and  entirely  artistic  concep 
tion  of  art  as  a  whole,  that  will  lead  observers  to  apply  its  principles  .  .  . 
and  to  distrust  the  charlatanism  that  imposes  an  idle  and  superficial 
mannerism  upon  the  public  in  place  of  true  beauty  and  honest  work 
manship." —  The  Ne'ju  York  Times. 

"  His  style  is  good,  and  his  logic  sound,  and  ...  of  the  greatest 
possible  service  to  the  student  of  artistic  theories." — Art  Journal 
(London). 

The  Representative  Significance  of  Form. 

8vo,  cloth  extra.         $2.00 

u  Evidently  the  ripe  fruit  of  years  of  patient  and  exhaustive  study  on 
the  part  of  a  man  singularly  fitted  for  his  task.  It  is  profound  in  insight, 
searching  in  analysis,  broad  in  spirit,  and  thoroughly  modern  in  methoa 
and  sympathy." — The  Universalist  Leader. 

"  An  original  thinker  and  writer,  the  charm  of  his  style  and  clearness 
of  expression  make  Mr.  Raymond's  book  possible  to  the  general  reader, 
though  worthy  of  the  study  of  the  student  and  scholar." — Hartford 
Courant. 

Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture,  as  Representa 
tive  Arts.     With  225  illustrations,  8vo.         .         $2.50 

41  Expression  Ly  means  of  extension  or  size  .  .  .  shape  .  .  .  regu 
larity  in  ontlines  .  .  .  the  human  body  .  .  .  posture,  gesture,  and 
movement  .  .  .  are  all  considered.  ...  A  specially  interesting  chapter 
is  the  one  on  color." — Current  Literature. 

"  The  whole  book  is  the  work  of  a  man  of  exceptional  though tfuln ess, 
who  says  what  he  has  to  say  in  a  remarkably  lucid  and  direct  manner."-^ 
The  Philadelphia  Press. 

The  Genesis  of  Art-Form.    Fully  illustrated.    8vo.    $2.25 

"  In  a  spirit  at  once  scientific  and  that  of  the  true  artist,  he  pierces 
through  the  manifestations  of  art  to  their  sources,  and  shows  the  relations, 
intimate  and  essential,  between  painting,  sculpture,  poetry,  music,  and 
architecture.  A  book  that  possesses  not  only  singular  value,  but  singular 
charm."— A".  Y.  Times. 

'k  A  help  and  a  delight.  Every  aspirant  for  culture  in  any  of  the 
liberal  arts,  including  music  and  poetry,  will  find  something  in  this  book 
to  aid  him.  — Boston  Times. 

Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color  in  Painting, 
Sculpture,  and  Architecture. 

Fully  illustrated.     8vo.     $2.50 

"  No  critical  person  can  afford  to  ignore  so  valuable  a  contribution  to 
the  art-thought  of  the  day." — The  Art-Interchange  (N.  Y.). 

"  One  does  not  need  to  be  a  scholar  to  follow  this  scholar  as  he  teaches 
while  seeming  to  entertain  ;  for  he  does  both." — Burlington  Hawk-Eye. 

"  The  artist  who  wishes  to  penetrate  the  mysteries  of  color,  the  sculptor 
who  desires  to  cultivate  his  sense  of  proportion,  or  the  architect  whose 
ambition  is  to  reach  to  a  high  standard  will  find  the  work  helpful  and 
Vnspiring." — Boston  Transcript. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


BOOKS  BY  PROFESSOR  RAYMOND 


Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art.     8°     .  .  $1.75 

This  book  is  an  attempt,  in  accordance  with  modern  methods,  aided 
by  the  results  of  modern  investigation,  to  determine  scientifically  the 
laws  of  poetic  composition  and  criticism,  by  deriving  and  distinguish 
ing  the  methods  and  meanings  of  the  various  factors  of  poetic  form 
and  thought  from  those^  of  the  elocution  and  rhetoric  of  ordinary 
speech,  of  which  poetry  is  an  artistic  development.  The  principles 
unfolded  are  illustrated  by  quotations  from  the  first  Englisn  poets. 

"I  have  read  it  with  pleasure,  and  a  sense  of  instruction  on  many 
points." — Francis  Turner  Palgrave,  Professor  of  Poetry,  Oxford  Uni 
versity. 

"Dieses  ganz  vortreffiche  Werk." — Englische  Studien,  Universitat 
Breslau. 

"An  acute,  interesting,  and  brilliant  piece  of  work.  .  .  .  As  a 
whole  the  essay  deserves  unqualified  praise." — N.  Y.  Independent. 

The  Essentials  of  Esthetics.    Fully  illustrated.      8°  $2.50 

A  compendium  of  all  the  art-volumes,  designed  as  a  Text-Bock. 

"So  lucid  in  expression  and  rich  in  illustraton  that  every  page  con 
tains  matter  of  deep  interest  even  to  the  general  reader." — Boston 
Herald. 

"It  can  hardly  fail  to  make  talent  more  rational,  genius  more 
conscious  of  the  principles  of  art,  and  the  critic  and  connoisseur 
better  equipped  for  impression,  judgment,  and  appraisement." — 
New  York  Times. 

The  Orator's  Manual.    I2mo  .  .  .     $1.50 

A  Practical  and  Philos9phic  Treatise  on  Vocal  Culture,  Emphasis, 
and  Gesture,  together  with  Hints  for  the  Composition  of  Orations 
and  Selections  for  Declamation  and  Reading,  designed  as  a  Text 
book  for  Schools  and  Colleges,  and  for  Public  Speakers  and  Readers 
who  are  obliged  to  Study  without  an  Instructor,  fully  revised  with 
important  Additions  after  the  Fifteenth  Edition. 

"It  is  undoubtedly  the  most  complete  and  thorough  treatise  on 
oratory  for  the  practical  student  ever  published." — The  Educational 
Weekly,  Chicago. 

"I  consider  it  the  best  American  book  upon  technical  elocution. 
It  has  also  leanings  toward  a  philosophy  of  expression  that  no  other 
book  written  by  an  American  has  presented." — Moses  True  Brown, 
Head  of  the  Boston  School  of  Oratory. 

The  Writer  (with  POST  WHEELER,  Litt.D.)    I2mo    $1.00 

A  Concise,  Complete,  and  Practical  Text-book  of  Rhetoric,  de 
signed  to  aid  in  the  Appreciation,  as  well  as  Production  of  All  Forms 
of  Literature,  Explaining,  for  the  first  time,  the  Principles  of  Written 
Discourse  by  correlating  them  to  those  of  Oral  Discourse. 

"A  book  of  unusual  merit  .  .  .  prepared  by  practical  teachers, 
and  the  end  in  view  is  evidently  to  teach  rather  than  to  give  in 
formation." — The  Pacific  Educational  Journal. 

"The  pupil  will  forget  he  is  studying  rhetoric,  and  will  come  to 
express  himself  for  the  pure  pleasure  he  has  in  this  most  beautiful 
art." — Indiana  School  Journal. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


BOOKS  BY  PROFESSOR  RAYMOND 


Ethics  and  Natural  Law.     8vo       .     Net,  $2.25. 

A  Reconstructive  Review  of  Moral  Philosophy,  Applied  to  the 
Rational  Art  of  Living, — a  Book  that  is  in  effect  a  Continuation 
and  Completion  of  the  Author's  well-known  ^sthetic  Works,  show 
ing  the  Relationship  of  the  Principles  underlying  Art  to  the  Culture 
of  Character. 

"The  student  of  ethics  will  considerably  fortify  his  knowledge  of 
the  history  of  ethical  thought  by  reading  the  book,  especially  the 
first  twelve  chapters.  In  these  Mr.  Raymond  embodies,  with 
copious  references,  his  extensive  knowledge  of  what  has  been  written 
and  thought  by  moral  philosophers.  On  pp.  63-67,  for  instance, 
will  be  found  in  footnotes  a  kind  of  classified  anthology  of  all  the 
definitions  given  of  conscience  by  modern  writers.  The  various 
ethical  theories  holding  the  field  do  not,  he  thinks,  recognize  as  in 
dispensable  the  cooperation,  in  every  slightest  detail  of  thought 
and  feeling,  of  the  two  necessary  factors  of  every  desire;  and  he 
claims  that  his  own  doctrine  keeps  to  the  purpose  he  avows  in  his 
opening  chapter, — to  draw  no  inference,  and  to  advance  no  theory, 
not  warranted  by  known  facts  as  ascertainable  in  connection  with 
the  operations  of  natural  law.  .  .  .  Chapters  XIII  to  XXIII 
deal  acutely  and  comprehensively  with  the  various  sides  of  American 
life." — London  (England)  Times, 

In  an  article  entitled  A  Desirable  Acquaintance,  Prof.  A.  S.  Hobart, 
D.D.  of  Crozer  Theological  Seminary,  after  mentioning  his  twenty 
years'  experience  in  teaching  Ethics,  says,  "I  find  this  book  the  only 
one  that  has  come  within  the  range  of  my  reading  which  has,  for  the 
basis  of  its  system,  what  I  have  found  to  be  satisfactory.  The 
writer  assumes  that  there  is  in  the  nature  of  things  a  law  of  ethical 
conduct  as  continuous  and  self-evincing  as  is  the  law  of  physical 
health.  .  .  .  The  study  of  psychology  has  opened  the  mind  to 
inspection  as  we  open  the  back  of  a  watch-case  and  see  the  wheels 
go  round;  and  this  study  lays  its  crown  of  victorious  explorations  at 
the  feet  of  ethics.  .  .  .  His  view  is  that  conscience  is  the  sense 
of  conflict  between  bodily  and  mental  desires.  .  .  .  therefore  not 
a  guide;  it  is  only  a  sense  of  lostness  in  the  woods,  that  wants  a 
guide.  Good  sense  and  good  religion  are  the  guides  to  be  consulted. 
By  many  illustrations  and  very  clear  reasoning  he  verifies  his  view. 
Then,  ...  he  takes  up  the  task  unusual  in  such  books — of  show 
ing  how  the  leading  moral  qualities  can  and  ought  to  be  cultivated. 
In  view  of  my  own  careful  reading  of  the  book  I  venture  to  call 
attention  to  it  as  a  most  fertile  source  of  instruction  and  suggestion 
for  ethical  teaching. — The  Baptist. 

"The  book  is  clear  and  comprehensive.  His  theory  in  regard  to 
conflict  is  reasonable,  and  the  principles  deduced  from  it  have 
philosophic  foundation." — Boston  Transcript. 

"  Professor  Raymond  extracts  a  fundamental  principle  that  largely 
reconciles  existing  ethical  theories  .  .  .  makes  distinctions  that 
have  vitality,  and  will  repay  the  necessary  study  and  application." — 
Scientific  American. 


PUBLICATIONS   OF  G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

BOOKS  BY  PROFESSOR  RAYMOND 


A  Poet's  Cabinet  and  An  Art  Philosopher's  Cabinet. 

Two  books  containing  quotations,  the  one  from  the  poems,  and 
the  other  from  the  aesthetic  works  of  George  Lansing  Raymond, 
selected  by  Marion  Mills  Miller,  Litt.D.,  editor  of  The  Classics, 
Greek,  and  Latin.  Each  book  8vo.  cloth-bound,  gilt  top.  $2.00 

"Dr.  Raymond  is  one  of  the  most  just  and  pregnant  critics,  as 
well  as  one  of  the  most  genuine  poets,  that  America  has  produced. 
.  .  .  His  verse  generally,  and  his  prose  frequently,  is  a  solid  pack 
of  epigrams:  and  hundreds  of  the  epigrams  are  vigorous,  fresh, 
telling,  worth  collecting  and  cataloguing.  .  .  .  Probably  from  no 
other  American  but  Emerson  could  a  collection  at  all  comparable  be 
made.  Many  of  the  phrases  are  profound  paradox.  .  .  .  Others 
are  as  hard-headed  as  La  Rochefoucauld.  .  .  .  Some  are  plain 
common  sense,  set  in  an  audacious  figure,  or  a  vigorous  turn  of 
phrase.  .  .  .  But  few  or  none  of  them  are  trivial.  ...  As  an 
aesthetic  critic,  Professor  Raymond  is,  by  training  and  temperament, 
remarkably  versatile  and  catholic.  He  is  almost  or  quite  equally 
interested  in  architecture,  painting,  sculpture,  music,  poetry.  .  .  . 
Each  is  as  definitely  placed  in  his  system  as  the  several  instruments 
in  a  great  orchestra.  ...  If  Dr.  Raymond  had  been  born  in 
France,  England,  or  Germany,  he  would,  no  doubt,  have  enjoyed 
a  wider  vogue.  But  it  is  just  as  well  that  he  was  none  of  these; 
for  the,  as  yet,  aesthetically  immature  New  World  has  sore  need  of 
him." — Revue  Internationale,  Paris. 

"We  risk  little  in  foretelling  a  day  when  all  considerable  libraries, 
private  as  well  as  public,  will  be  deemed  quite  incomplete  if  lacking 
these  twin  volumes.  Years  after  the  thinker  has  paid  the  debt  to 
nature  due,  his  thoughts  will  rouse  action  and  emotion  in  the  hearts 
and  minds  of  generations  now  unborn." — Worcester  (Mass.)  Gazette. 

"This  Poet's  Cabinet  is  the  best  thing  of  its  class — that  confined 
to  the  works  of  one  author — upon  which  our  eyes  have  fallen,  either 
by  chance  or  purpose.  We  can't  help  wishing  that  we  had  a  whole 
book-shelf  of  such  volumes  in  our  own  private  library." — Columbus, 
(O.)  Journal. 

"The  number  and  variety  of  the  subjects  are  almost  overwhelm 
ing,  and  the  searcher  for  advanced  or  new  thought  as  expressed  by 
this  particular  philosopher  has  no  difficulty  in  coming  almost  im 
mediately  upon  something  that  may  strike  his  fancy  or  aid  him  in 
his  perplexities.  To  the  student  of  poetry  and  the  higher  forms  of 
literature  .  .  .  the  volume  will  be  of  distinct  aid." — Utica  (N.  Y.) 
Observer. 

"Dr.  Miller's  task  in  selecting  representative  extracts  from  Pro 
fessor  Raymond's  works  has  not  been  a  light  one,  for  there  has  been 
no  chaff  among  the  wheat,  and  there  was  an  ever  present  temptation 
to  add  bulk  to  the  book  through  freedom  in  compilation.  He 
thought  best,  however,  to  eliminate  all  but  the  features  which 
revealed  the  rare  rich  soul  and  personality  of  the  poet,  and  each 
quotation  is  a  gem." — Albany  (N.  Y.)  Times-Union. 

"To  study  the  works  of  any  one  man  so  that  we  are  completely 
familiar  with  his  ideas  upon  all  important  subjects — if  the  man  have 
within  him  any  element  of  greatness — is  a  task  which  is  likely  to 
repay  the  student's  work.  .  .  .  This  fact  makes  the  unique 
quality  of  the  present  volume  .  .  .  quotations  which  deal  with 
practically  every  subject  to  be  found  in  more  general  anthologies." 
Boston  (Mass.)  Advertiser. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  FUNK  &  WAGNALLS  CO. 

BOOKS  BY  PROFESSOR  RAYMOND 


The  Psychology  of  Inspiration.  8vo,  cloth.   (New 
Revised  Edition).     Net,  $2.00;  by  mail,  $2.14 

The  book  founds  its  conclusions  on  a  study  of  the  action  of  the 
human  mind  when  obtaining  and  expressing  truth,  as  this  action 
has  been  revealed  through  the  most  recent  investigations  of  phy 
siological,  psychological,  and  psychic  research;  and  the  freshness 
and  originality  of  the  presentation  is  acknowledged  and  commended 
by  such  authorities  as  Dr.  J.  Mark  Baldwin,  Professor  of  Psychology 
in  Johns  Hopkins  University,  who  says  that  its  psychological  posi 
tion  is  "new  and  valuable";  Dr.  W.  T.  Harris,  late  United  States 
Commissioner  of  Education  and  the  foremost  metaphysician  in  the 
country,  who  says  it  is  sure  "to  prove  helpful  to  many  who  find 
themselves  on  the  border  line  between  the  Christian  and  the  non- 
Christian  beliefs";  and  Dr.  Edward  Everett  Hale,  who  says  that 
"no  one  has  approached  the  subject  from  this  point  of  view." 

The  first  and,  perhaps,  the  most  important  achievement  of  the 
book  is  to  show  that  the  fact  of  inspiration  can  be  demonstrated 
scientifically;  in  other  words,  that  the  inner  subconscious  mind  can 
be  influenced  irrespective  of  influences  exerted  through  the  eyes 
and  the  ears,  *.  e.,  by  what  one  sees  or  hears.  In  connection  with 
this  fact  it  is  also  shown  that,  when  the  mind  is  thus  inwardly  or 
inspirationally  influenced,  as,  for  example,  in  hypnotism,  the  in 
fluence  is  suggestive  and  not  dictatorial.  Not  only  so,  but  such  faith 
as  it  is  natural  and  right  that  a  rational  being  should  exercise  can  be 
stimulated  and  developed  in  only  the  degree  in  which  the  text  of  a 
sacred  book  is  characterized  by  the  very  vagueness  and  variety  of 
meaning  and  statement  which  the  higher  criticism  of  the  Bible  has 
brought  to  light.  The  book  traces  these  to  the  operation  and  re 
quirements  of  the  human  mind  through  which  inspiration  is  received 
and  to  which  it  is  imparted.  Whatever  inspires  must  appear  to  be, 
in  some  way,  beyond  the  grasp  of  him  who  communicates  it,  and 
can  make  him  who  hears  it  think  and  train  him  to  think,  in  the  degree 
only  in  which  it  is  not  comprehensive  or  complete;  but  merely,  like 
everything  else  in  nature,  illustrative  of  that  portion  of  truth  which 
the  mind  needs  to  be  made  to  find  out  for  itself. 

The  sane,  fair,  kindly  attitude  taken  gives  of  itself  a  profitable 
lesson.  The  author  proves  conclusively  that  his  mind — and  if  his, 
why  not  another's? — can  be  at  one  and  the  same  time  sound,  sani 
tary,  scientific,  and  essentially  religious." — The  Examiner,  Chicago. 

"The  author  writes  with  logic  and  a  'sweet  reasonableness1  that 
will  doubtless  convince  many  halting  minds.  It  is  an  inspiring 
book." — Philadelphia  Inquirer. 

"  It  is,  we  think,  difficult  to  overestimate  the  value  of  this  volume 
at  the  present  critical  pass  in  the  history  of  Christianity." — The 
Arena,  Boston. 

"  The  author  has  taken  up  a  task  calling  for  heroic  effort,  and  has 
given  us  a  volume  worthy  of  careful  study.  .  .  .  The  conclusion 
is  certainly  very  reasonable." — Christian  Intelligencer,  New  York. 

"Interesting,  suggestive,  helpful." — Boston  Congregationalism 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  FUNK  &  WAGNALLS  CO. 
BOOKS  BY  PROFESSOR  RAYMOND 

Fundamentals  in  Education,  Art,  and  Civics:  Essays  and 
Addresses.    8vo,  cloth.        Net,  $1.40;  by  mail,  $1.53 

"Of  fascinating  interest  to  cultured  readers,  to  the  student,  the 
teacher,  the  poet,  the  artist,  the  musician,  in  a  word  to  all  lovers  of 
sweetness  and  light.  The  author  has  a  lucid  and  vigorous  style, 
and  is  often  strikingly  original.  What  impresses  one  is  the  per 
sonality  of  a  profound  thinker  and  a  consummate  teacher  behind 
every  paragraph." — Dundee  Courier,  Scotland. 

"The  articles  cover  a  wide  field  and  manifest  a  uniformly  high 
cultur*  in  every  field  covered.  It  is  striking  how  this  great  educator 
seems  to  have  anticipated  the  educational  tendencies  of  our  times 
some  decades  before  they  imprest  the  rest  of  us.  He  has  been  a 
pathfinder  for  many  younger  men,  and  still  points  the  way  to  higher 
heights.  The  book  is  thoroughly  up-to-date." — Service,  Philadel 
phia. 

"Clear,  informing,  and  delightfully  readable.  Whether  the  sub 
ject  is  art  and  morals,  technique  in  expression,  or  character  in  a 
republic,  each  page  will  be  found  interesting  and  the  treatment 
scholarly,  but  simple,  sane,  and  satisfactory  .  .  .  the  story  of 
the  Chicago  fire  is  impressingly  vivid." — Chicago  Standard. 

"He  is  a  philosopher,  whose  encouraging  idealism  is  well  grounded 
in  scientific  study,  and  who  illuminates  points  of  psychology  and 
ethics  as  well  as  of  art  when  they  come  up  in  the  course  of  the  dis 
cussion." — The  Scotsman,  Edinburgh,  Scotland. 

"Agreeably  popularizes  much  that  is  fundamental  in  theories  of 
life  and  thought,  The  American  people  owe  much  of  their  progress, 
their  optimism,  and  we  may  say  their  happiness  to  the  absorption 
of  just  such  ideals  as  Professor  Raymond  stands  for." — Minneapolis 
Book  Review  Digest. 

Suggestions  for  the  Spiritual  Life— College  Chapel  Talks. 

8vo,  cloth  .  .         Net,  $1.50;  by  mail,  $1.63 

"Sermons  of  more  than  usual  worth,  full  of  thought  of  the  right 
kind,  fresh,  strong,  direct,  manly.  .  .  .  Not  one  seems  to  strain 
to  get  a  young  man's  attention  by  mere  popular  allusions  to  a  student 
environment.  They  are  spiritual,  scriptural,  of  straight  ethical 
import,  meeting  difficulties,  confirming  cravings,  amplifying  tangled 
processes  of  reasoning,  and  not  forgetting  the  emotions." — Hartford 
Theological  Seminary  Record  (Congregationalist). 

"The  clergyman  who  desires  to  reach  young  men  especially,  and 
the  teacher  of  men's  Bible  Classes  may  use  this  collection  of  addresses 
to  great  advantage.  .  .  .  The  subjects  are  those  of  every  man's 
experience  in  character  building  .  .  .  such  a  widespread  handling 
of  God's  word  would  have  splendid  results  in  the  production  of  men." 
— The  Living  Church  (Episcopalian). 

"Great  themes,  adequately  considered.  .  .  .  Surely  the  young 
men  who  listened  to  these  sermons  must  have  been  stirred  and 
helped  by  them  as  we  have  been  stirred  and  helped  as  we  read  them." 
— Northfield  (Mass.)  Record  of  Christian  Work  (Evangelical). 

"  They  cover  a  wide  range.  They  are  thoughtful,  original,  literary, 
concise,  condensed,  pithy.  They  deal  with  subjects  in  which  the 
young  will  be  interested." — Western  Christian  Advocate  (Methodist). 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUB  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
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AN  INITIAL  FINE"  OF  25  CENTS 

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